


Newt Scamander and the Impossible Stowaway

by sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Continuation, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction (at first), Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 53,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive/pseuds/sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive
Summary: Newt can't stay in New York forever, but leaving is hard, and lonely--until he discovers Credence is alive and well, sleeping in Newt's cabin.Credence doesn't deserve mercy, but he still can't help following the man in the blue coat who tried to save him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to work on my NaNoWriMo novel and instead this happened. I just need Credence to be happy. Someone save him.

Boarding ships wasn’t supposed to be so difficult, and it wasn’t as if Newt hadn’t done it dozens of times before. Only—sometimes leaving a place was like ripping out a vestigial organ. Even when the people were horrible, the land and the creatures were enthralling enough to make him want to stay.

This was different.

This felt like leaving behind several very vital parts of himself. His boots rang hollow on the gangplank. He paused, a universe of words building in his throat, words he didn’t know how to make sense of, so he let them dissolve on his tongue. Newt continued up the ramp onto the ship without looking back at Tina. He knew very well what would happen if he did.

Inside, the ship was mostly empty. It wasn’t scheduled to leave the dock for a few hours, so many of the passengers hadn’t arrived. Newt found his cabin—a cramped space barely larger than a cupboard that smelled faintly of boiled cabbage—and set his case on the shabby bed.

A few tears fell onto the brown leather. Newt let out a sob, his hands trembling on the twine he’d tied around his case—the twine Queenie had insisted on as a joke until Tina had jumped on the idea. Newt slid to the floor, his back to the bed, arms curled around his knees.

Pickett stirred and poked his head out of Newt’s lapel.

“Sorry,” Newt said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just—I’m—I’m going to miss New York.”

Pickett gave him a very shrewd look that plainly said the bowtruckle knew exactly what Newt would miss about New York, and it wasn’t the food or the accents.

“Fine.” Newt stopped another tear from falling onto Pickett. “I’m going to miss them. My friends.” The word felt foreign on his tongue. He’d had classmates, colleagues, and brothers-in-arms during the war, but friends were few and far between. And in only a few days he’d gained and lost three of the dearest he could ever hope to have. Jacob he had lost forever. Newt had done what he could for Jacob, but he’d taken something so much dearer from him.

After a while, Newt stood and undid the twine on his case. The beasts inside needed tending. He set about his work in a methodical fashion, losing himself in the ritual. The numbness inside him faded into a dull ache he could ignore.

Until the niffler tried to steal a shard of Occamy egg and got into a tussle with them. No one was harmed, and Newt grabbed the niffler with a smile. He glanced over his shoulder to see what Jacob made of the incident—and felt like he’d walked right through every ghost at Hogwarts.

Jacob was gone. Tina and Queenie too. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. He was used to traveling with just his beasts, used to ruminating about his adventures only with his journal. Used to having no other wizards or Muggles to talk to.

This was a return to normal, Newt reminded himself. Best put all of it behind him—the good, and the bad.

Instead of tending to the Mooncalves, Newt found himself standing in front of the room where he kept the Obscurus. Another kind of pain clawed its way up his throat. He’d failed Credence, just as he’d failed the Sudanese girl. Failure, in general, wasn’t something alien to Newt, but this kind never got easier to bear.

With a rustle of fabric, Pickett climbed up to Newt’s shoulder and placed his tiny hand against Newt’s cheek.

“Right,” Newt said. “No time to waste.”

He finished tending to everyone. When he climbed back out of his case, the ship was noisy with other passengers bustling about. Newt reached for his pocket watch, but the niffler had taken it. Again.

With a sigh, he waved his wand at the twine on the bed. It sprang around the case, which Newt grabbed before heading up to the main deck.

Quite a crowd milled around, watching the harbor shrink. Wind from the open ocean drew away the rather unpleasant scents of the docks. Newt set his case by his feet and leaned on the railing, breathing deeply.

The world wasn’t only full of hatred and pain, Newt thought. There was beauty in so many unexpected places, and perhaps his manuscript would help the wizarding world understand their fellow magical creatures more. Maybe he could help bring a little kindness into the world.

The third time Newt tried to check his watch, he decided he’d better go and retrieve it from the niffler. He went belowdecks and counted off cabin numbers until he reached his own. The door was unlocked as he’d left it, but someone was inside.

“Terribly sorry,” Newt said, averting his gaze from the man on the bed, “Must have got the wrong room.” He shut the door and was several steps away when he realized the man in the cabin bore a very striking resemblance to—

To—

But that was impossible.

Newt glanced at the next door number. Fifteen. Newt looked at his ticket. He was to be in cabin fourteen. Newt backtracked, then knocked on his own door.

“Excuse me, sir, but I believe you may have gotten the wrong room, not me—” Newt chanced another look at the man. His breath caught.

Credence lay on the small bed, curled as if taking up any more space than necessary would offend someone. His chest rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep.

He was alive, impossibly alive. Newt’s case thudded to the floor beside him.

The noise made Credence stir. He opened his eyes, disoriented, until he noticed Newt standing there, mouth agape. Credence sat up, shrinking away from Newt.

“I’m—I’m sorry—I didn’t know where else to go.” Credence’s voice shook with terror. “Can you help me?”

For a very long moment Newt forgot how talking worked. Everything about this was unreal—he’d seen Credence destroyed. Yet here he was, watching Newt with growing horror and shame—

“Yes,” Newt said, rushing through the words, “Yes, of course. I—” Newt remembered the smile of the Sudanese girl, and the screams as her own pain and rage tore her body apart. “I’ll do what I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! More chapters coming soon, because I have to work this out of my system.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read/gave kudos/commented on this! I felt like this fic was incredibly self-indulgent, so it's nice to know other people are enjoying it, too!

Credence could count on one hand the number of times he’d felt like someone had really noticed him. The crowds of the city passed him by without a second glance, and even his so-called mother had only seen him when he’d done something wrong or unnatural. And Graves—Graves had seen only a tool to be used. That much was clear to Credence. The knowledge still stung and made his stomach churn.

But Tina Goldstein had seen him. She’d always been kind to him, and her friend, the man in the blue coat, had stared straight at his Obscurus, at all the darkness inside Credence, all the unnatural wrongness of him, and he’d still looked at Credence like he was worth helping. Worth saving.

Rain pattered on the roof, but with a different cadence than it usually did above his room—

Credence opened his eyes. He wasn’t home. Memories returned like unwelcome dinner guests, but he was used to his mind being crowded with unpleasant thoughts. His home didn’t exist anymore. There was nothing left of it, nothing left of anything.

Everything hurt. Gingerly, Credence sat up and took in his surroundings. He was under a small awning, inches from being soaked by the sudden downpour. Thunder rumbled overhead. The overwhelming urge to step into the rain shook him. He had the strange idea that it might wash everything away, all his pain and anger and maybe his body, too. Maybe then he could rest.

Drawing in a deep breath, Credence pressed his back against the wall. The rough stone scraped his fingers but grounded him. Without his pain, what was he? _Who_ was he?

Closing his eyes, Credence sank into his exhaustion, into the agony of Graves’s words, into the hatred that boiled inside him. Soft darkness curled around him, and he moved into the rain without fear. He wasn’t the uncontrolled storm he’d been after Graves had shown his true colors. Now he was a quiet shadow, purposeless. He drifted through the streets.

Slowly his aimlessness fell away as something tugged him forward. Credence tumbled back into his body, still careful of the rain, and peeked around a corner.

The man in the blue coat was there. Credence followed him. Watched him as he swapped another man’s case for one filled with silver, watched him as he said farewell to Miss Goldstein. Watched him as he boarded a ship to England.

Following people was easy when you were invisible. No one ever looked twice at Credence, no one ever saw him. He walked onto the ship and waited for the man in the blue coat to return to his cabin.

And, embarrassingly, he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t planned on that, not that he had much of a plan at all. But he’d already made a very bad first impression on the man in the blue coat, and this wasn’t helping. Credence had no idea what he was going to do now that the man agreed to help him.

“Do I deserve to be saved?” Credence asked, though he hadn’t meant to speak at all.

“Yes.” The man in blue sounded much more sure of his answer this time. He grabbed his suitcase, hurried into the cabin, and shut the door behind him.

The space, which had seemed almost comfortingly close to Credence as he waited, now felt too small. Ripples of fear ran up his back. Credence was a murderer, and this man knew it. It would be well within reason for him to arrest Credence, or—

The man put his suitcase on the ground and knelt to open it.

“I want to show you something, Credence,” he said, a flicker of joy in his voice. “Please follow me.”

Then the man climbed down into the case. Magic, something Credence still wasn’t used to seeing. And this was so casual, so carefree, nothing like the intimate way Graves healed Credence’s hands, or the rush of torment that his own power was.

Credence wanted to be surrounded by something so pure and uncomplicated, he wanted to be in a world where magic was normal. The world he should have belonged to from the beginning. Credence stood in front of the case, staring down into it.

“Don’t be frightened,” the man in the blue coat called up. “There’s a ladder. It’s perfectly safe.”

 _Safe_. And what did Credence have to fear, anyway? He’d felt the spells tear through his Obscurus, and yet here he was, alive and well. Credence stepped down into the case.

A room opened up around him, cluttered with all kinds of strange things. The scent of unfamiliar herbs tickled Credence’s nose.

The man in the blue coat stood by a small stove. “Tea?” He asked, holding out a cup to Credence.

Credence took it out of habit, though he wasn’t much of a tea-drinker. Still, the cup was warm against his hands and the tea smelled nice. He stared into the dark liquid, waiting for—judgement? The pain he deserved?

 _An end an end an end_. Credence was so tired—

“Go on, drink, it’s not poisoned.” The man sipped his own tea, then sat down on a stool. “I find this place to be a bit more hospitable than staying on the ship, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Credence said. What was he doing here, making small talk? “Are you going to—?”

“Turn you in? Certainly not. You’re one of a kind, Credence. The authorities would only hurt you instead of trying to understand you.”

The tea in his hands shook. Credence risked a glance at the man and was relieved when he wasn’t even looking in his direction.

A restless energy surrounded the man, even when he was sitting still sipping tea. While Credence had watched him in the city, he’d been in constant motion until his subdued goodbye.

The man glanced at Credence from the corner of his eye in an almost shy way.

“Thank you for the tea,” Credence said automatically, “Mr.—?” He still hadn’t gotten the man’s name.

“Newt Scamander. Pleased to meet you.” He actually sounded sincere when he said the words.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt, please. I don’t see a reason for friends to be on anything other than a first name basis.”

“Friends?” Credence’s voice was soft, a surprised breath.

“I hope so, yes. At the very least, temporary roommates.” Newt set his cup down and stood. “Come on, this isn’t what I wanted to show you.”

Beyond the door was another world entirely. Strange animals filled the place, enough to make Credence’s head spin. Mingling scents of animal fur and hide combined with aromas of flowers and turned earth and the summer sky—worlds upon worlds, all folded neatly into a suitcase. Amidst all this Credence was nothing—his power was a child’s tantrum compared to a symphony.

The animals were the most astonishing of it all. Newt led him around, naming them off, and Credence remembered none of it.

Despite all the mesmerizing creatures around him, Credence couldn't seem to draw his gaze away from Newt for too long. He had no right to stare—it was rude, and in the depths of his heart he knew he shouldn't be appreciating the graceful curve of Newt’s neck, the deft way his hands moved. Thinking that sort of thing was as unholy as the magic that swirled in his veins—but he couldn’t help but stare. And Newt made it easy, since he only looked at Credence to ensure he was listening, still keeping up in the cluster of wildernesses contained in the case.

Newt used a thin piece of wood to cast spells—a wand, but not a toy. The genuine article. Credence marveled at it as much as he wondered how the thing operated. His own power needed no conduit other than his pain and anger and a whisper of his will.

“How does it work?” Credence asked. Newt was busy refilling water troughs and had paused in his monologue.

“What, the tap?”

“No, your—your wand.”

“Oh.” For a moment Newt’s expression clouded with confusion, but joy broke through. “You have so much to learn—I hardly know where to start.”

“I’m sorry.” Credence stared at the floor. “You don’t have to bother. I’m too dull to learn much, anyway—”

“Nonsense,” Newt said, for once looking at Credence longer than a moment at a time. “You don’t strike me as dull at all.”

“I am—” that woman's voice rang in his mind, a hundred times, a thousand. _Stupid boy, worthless boy_. “I can't be taught anything—”

“Perhaps you only lack the right teacher.”

Graves had promised to teach him, Graves with his soft voice and gentle hands—gentle until he’d turned on Credence. How long until Newt did the same?

Credence sank to the floor, arms wrapped around himself.

“Credence?” Newt was there, kneeling in front of him, concern plain on his features. There was so much warmth in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth—

“What do you want from me?” Credence asked. Better to get it all out in the open. Better to not get attached.

“I don’t want anything from you. I want to help you, perhaps even cure you, if it’s possible.”

A lie. It had to be. No one gave away something for nothing, and Newt was putting himself at risk by harboring Credence. There was always a catch, Graves had taught him that much.

“Well,” Newt smiled and settled onto the floor, sitting cross-legged. “Wands.”

“Wands,” Credence echoed, struggling to keep his heart guarded.

There was a great deal more to wands than Credence would have thought possible. Newt spent a few minutes going over what he called the basics, but he kept mentioning strange things like unicorn hair and dragon heartstrings.

Then Newt did something that surprised Credence so much he froze in place. Newt held out his own wand.

“Give it a try. Mind, the wand’s loyalty is to me. The wand chooses the wizard. But you’re very powerful, so you might be able to get a spell to work after a few tries.”

Credence reached out for the wand, his movements sluggish. His head rang with all the things that woman said about magic. Evil, unnatural, born of the devil. He ignored the remembered warnings now just as he’d ignored them when he’d seen Graves do magic. Credence took the wand, careful to put as little pressure on the wood as possible. He didn’t want to break it.

“Go on,” Newt said, smiling, “give it a flick.”

“Flick?”

“Yes.” Newt mimed the motion, twitching his wrist a little and turning his hand.

Credence did his best to mirror Newt. Nothing happened. He tried again, and again nothing—

No—not nothing. Power fluttered through him, the darkness he kept inside. His edges began to blur until he forced it to stop.

“Ah.” Newt slumped, his smile falling away.

“Sorry—” Credence tried to hand the wand back. “I’m not teachable.” He hated seeing that expression on Newt’s gentle features, hated that he himself put it there.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have time to practice.” The way Newt included himself in the process, the casual us and we, made Credence’s stomach twist in an almost pleasant way.

“How—how much time?” Credence had to ask. He had to know when this would end.

“I’m not sure. You’re already impossible—no one’s ever heard of an Obscurial living to your age. You might be able to continue on as you have indefinitely.” The subject filled Newt’s eyes with distant sorrow. “Or you might succumb tomorrow. But,” Newt blinked and met Credence’s eye. His smile was back. “No use worrying. You just suffer twice.”

“I didn’t mean how long until I die,” Credence said, unable to look at Newt any longer. It was like staring at the rising sun. “How long until—” Until the ship reached its destination? Until Newt got tired of him and kicked him out? Until Newt realized Credence was dangerous and turned him over to whatever government handled people like him?

“I’ve never had a student before,” Newt said. “And I’m not a proper teacher. But you’re welcome to travel with me as long as you’d like. If you get a handle on your Obscurus, if you’re cured, I can see about setting you up with real tutors, perhaps you can even get your OWLs and NEWTs—”

“I don’t want a pet,” Credence said. And he was only interested in one Newt, though he’d never say such a thing out loud.

“They’re tests, exams to prove you've mastered your power enough to get along on your own.”

Credence knew Newt wasn’t trying to overwhelm him—this was probably all things every magical child knew from a young age—but it felt like Credence was so far behind he’d never catch up.

Perhaps he should have been killed. Perhaps it would have been better for everyone involved.

“No need to worry about all that.” Newt reached out and curled his hand around Credence’s, wrapping Credence’s fingers more securely around the wand. “One thing at a time. Anyone would have trouble using another person's wand to cast their first spell.”

Credence stared at the floor to hide the heat creeping into his face. Newt’s touch was light, unassuming—the very definition of a simple friendly gesture. But it made Credence’s stomach flutter like the first time he saw Graves do magic. He was filled with _want_.

The wild magic inside him pushed outward, straining the edge of Credence’s control.

“Easy,” Newt said, drawing his hand away. Credence hadn’t thought the air in the case was cold, but with the absence of Newt’s touch Credence’s fingers felt icy.

“Sorry.” At least without Newt touching him, Credence found control easier to come by.

“No, it’s my fault. We know so little about Obscurials—typically they reveal themselves to other wizards only in time to burn out and die. No one’s been able to study them much. And they’re rarer now— a good thing, in general, but it doesn’t help your situation.”

 _Maybe I should lose control and die_. The words pushed at Credence’s teeth with the same pressure as his magic. But he didn’t want to see Newt’s expression when Credence said what he truly thought. Instead of speaking, he set Newt’s wand down.

Newt pulled out a small notebook and thumbed through it. “My notes aren’t extensive, but I’ll review them to see if they give me any ideas. But I think you should focus on the source of the Obscurus—”

“But I’m the source.” Credence said, then flinched. It was rude to interrupt. Phantom pains laced his palms until he curled his fingers into fists.

Newt took the interruption in stride. “Your magic is, yes, but your magic shouldn’t be behaving that way. It should be a seamless part of you—”

 _Broken, broken, broken, useless_. Credence clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and his nails bit into his skin.

“—but the, ah,” Newt cleared his throat, “the circumstances of your life have forced you to repress your magic.”

Newt didn’t want to mention that woman by name, probably for Credence’s sake. Credence wasn’t sure how to feel about that—his insides were as restless and twisted as his Obscurus.

A faint scratching made Credence look up from his hands. Newt was writing in his journal, using a large cream-colored quill pen that had gold laced throughout the vane. As the feather moved the gold seemed to shimmer more than the light in the case should allow. It was as if sunlight touched the barbs and nothing else. The shifting glimmers captivated Credence. The feather was like Newt: impossible to look away from.

After finishing whatever thought he’d had, Newt glanced up at Credence. “Ah, yes, this is a gift from Frank. A friend.” Newt waved the quill a little. A ripple of gold ran through it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The glow of the feather illuminated Newt’s soft lips, his freckles, his kind eyes. “Yes,” Credence said. “Beautiful.”

“There’s so much you don’t know yet,” Newt said, wistful. The words should have made Credence feel small and stupid and useless, but instead they filled him with warmth and light. “I can’t wait to show you all of it. All the possibilities.”

Credence wanted to believe him, wanted to believe there was more than darkness inside his magic, his own heart. But Graves had made similar promises—promises of power and glory and freedom. And something Credence wanted more: promises Graves would stay by his side. They’d been unconditional at first, too. The price tag came later.

When Newt finally turned against him, Credence vowed to himself, he wouldn’t be blinded by desire or affection. He was done being a pawn. He shoved all the hope inside him down until he couldn’t feel it anymore, until he was only cold and empty inside. He wouldn’t let himself become attached to Newt the way he’d been attached to the idea of Graves—he wouldn’t let his abnormal desires cloud his judgement.

 _Never again_ , Credence thought, _never never never_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out way more angsty than I intended, but I shouldn't be surprised. But don't worry, I love happy endings!
> 
> Feel free to drop by [my tumblr](http://sirnotappearinginthisblog.tumblr.com/) to talk about theories or just scream about the movie with me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say thanks again to everyone for the amazing response to this! I hope you all find $20 on the ground.
> 
> Also, if anyone's interested, here's [an interview](http://www.cinemablend.com/news/1586630/fantastic-beasts-ending-a-key-scene-that-was-cut-and-why) where a producer reveals Credence is canonically still alive!

With a flourish, Newt put his journal and quill away and retrieved his wand. The first attempt had gone splendidly. Well, it had gone alright—terribly. It had gone terribly, but at least there had been no injuries. Credence was subdued, staring at the space on the floor where Newt’s wand had been.

“Not to worry.” Newt stood. “We’ll try again later. Right now I’m famished. They should be serving lunch—” Newt reached for his watch and only then remembered he’d yet to retrieve it from the niffler. “Now-ish. Probably. _Accio pocket watch_.” With a jingle of chain and a flash of silver the watch flew out of the niffler’s small hoard and into Newt’s hand. The niffler poked his head out of his nest and glared at Newt, affronted. “Pout all you want. It’s mine, not yours.”

With the silence of someone accustomed to being told to be quiet, Credence stood. “Do they understand you?”

“Yes, most of them. More or less. Whether or not they listen,” Newt gave a pointed glare at the niffler, who was still staring daggers at them, “that varies. Oh, it is lunch time after all.” Newt tucked his wand into his coat and led Credence back to the ladder.

His cabin was as cramped as ever, but they only lingered there long enough for Newt to secure the twine around his case. He hadn’t been hungry all day—sorrow had filled him up—but now his stomach rumbled. Discovering Credence was alive had taken the edge off Newt’s loss. The pain was still there, but it was easier to bear his own loneliness with Credence around.

Newt reminded himself Credence wasn’t a consolation prize. He wasn’t on board this ship to keep Newt company, after all. He was a young man in need of help and guidance from an experienced wizard.

The weight of responsibility sobered Newt, but at least it didn’t curb his appetite.

“No magic in front of the Muggles, obviously,” Newt said before walking into the hallway.

“Muggles?”

“Non-magical people. If you slip up, I can just Obliviate them—”

Credence pulled a face like Newt had promised to murder puppies.

“—which is just a spell to remove memories. It doesn’t hurt.” No wonder Muggles got the wrong idea about magic. Some of the spells had ghastly names. Newt put his hand on the doorknob. “Alright, let’s just go and have a nice lunch without getting into any trouble.”

“What trouble could we get into during lunch?”

“Ah.” Newt recalled a few very memorable dining experiences that went awry. “Sometimes things get away from me. For perspective, I planned to be in New York only long enough to catch a train. I arrived days ago.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Good, because I meant it more as a warning.” Newt gave Credence a quick smile, then opened the door.

Passengers walked up and down the hallway, all of them excited for the start of the journey. The dining room was spacious and had more pleasing decor than Newt’s cabin. It was also crowded with people, and Newt did his best to avoid bumping into anyone with his case as a waiter showed them to their table. But good intentions only got him so far. Several people looked askance at Newt for carrying around his luggage, but Newt ignored them.

When they were finally seated at a table, Credence spoke, almost too softly for Newt to hear. “Why didn’t you leave the case in your room?”

Newt had set it between his feet, and now he fought the urge to hold it to his chest. “What, abandon them all to be found by some nosey Muggles?”

“Oh.” Credence stared at the tabletop until their waiter came back with their orders. He picked at his food with little enthusiasm.

Newt understood why, so he didn’t make an issue of it. Until very recently Credence had been under the sway of a powerful and manipulative wizard. He’d need time to recover. The best Newt could offer him was distraction, and perhaps a purpose. _Direction_ , Newt thought, _that’s what everyone wants_.

Newt himself ate quickly. The food was excellent, and he’d skipped breakfast. When he was done, he found Credence had already pushed his plate away.

“How about a walk?” Newt asked. He’d always found there wasn’t much to do on ships but read or write or spend time with magical beasts. But Credence might not find those pursuits entertaining.

“Walk?”

“On the promenade deck. Get some fresh air.”

Credence nodded, which was probably the best Newt could hope for. They left the noisy dining room and made their way outside. The day was blustering and cold—December on the Atlantic wasn’t forgiving. But the air brought a little color to Credence’s cheeks.

Shifting his case from one hand to the other, Newt stole a glance at Credence. He’d been quiet through lunch and still didn’t engage in conversation. Newt tried a variety of subjects but only got one-word responses from him.

“Are you feeling well?” Newt asked. They were standing at the ship’s bow, staring into the point where the clear blue sky met the dark ocean.

“No—I—” Credence swallowed. “I feel sick.”

“Ah,” Newt said, angry with himself. “This is your first time at sea. You’re seasick. Hang on—” Newt rummaged through his pockets. “I know I have it somewhere in here.”

Pickett crawled from Newt’s lapel to his breast pocket, in plain sight of all the Muggles around. Before Newt could chastise him, Pickett emerged with a small vial. It was the potion to cure seasickness that Newt had been looking for.

“Thanks, but you know better. Behave, now.” Newt handed Credence the vial. “Drink it. It’ll fix you right up.”

For a moment Credence stared at the vial, distrust marring his features. Then he removed the cork and drank the potion. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ll brew up some more tonight, enough for the whole journey. It only lasts about a day.”

More color came back to Credence’s fair skin. “Are there many potions?”

For a moment Newt didn’t understand the question. Then realization hit and he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. Everything he’d come to take for granted about the wizarding world took on new significance when he explained it to an outsider. “Yes. Lots. I have a few books I can show you.”

Still staring out into the open water, Credence nodded.

“Fantastic,” Newt said. “And, Credence,”  he paused. “If something’s wrong, tell me. No need to suffer in silence.” He left off the _anymore_ that belonged at the end of that sentence.

Again Credence only nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.

Well, it wasn’t as if Newt could break Credence of every bad habit immediately. “Let’s go back inside where it’s warm.”

 _Inside_ meant, of course, inside the case. Newt set to work on brewing more seasickness potion while explaining the steps to Credence. But the more Newt talked, the more distant Credence grew. He was withdrawing into himself. Newt was probably annoying him.

“I’ve got books you can read, if you’d like,” Newt said. “Or you can practice more with my wand.” There was only a minor chance Credence would cause chaos with a wand, and the risk was worth it. Especially if it meant Credence didn’t have to endure more of Newt’s presence than necessary. He wouldn’t be able to help Credence much if Newt continued to alienate him. Students didn’t necessarily have to like their teachers, but it helped.

Credence chose one of Newt’s potions books and began reading it in the corner of Newt’s shed. They lapsed into silence that Newt kept wanting to fill, but he resisted the urge. Historically speaking, prattling on didn’t endear people to Newt.

After a while, Newt became so absorbed in what he was doing he nearly forgot Credence was there. He spoke, and Newt nearly dropped the flask he was holding.

“These ingredients are all so strange,” Credence said, “And they sound—unholy. Like something _she_ would have claimed witches use.”

Newt had given Credence his copy of _Common Household Potions_. Everything in there was benign, as were the ingredients. Newt told Credence as much, then added, “There are some things dark wizards use that would perfectly fit the stereotype of evil magic. But you won’t find any of that here.”

“Dark wizards?”

“There are always bad people in any group. Wizards and witches are no exception.” Newt hesitated. He didn’t want to dredge up painful memories, not when they must still be so fresh. But Credence deserved to know the truth. “The man you knew as Graves is a dark wizard. His real name is Gellert Grindelwald.” Newt snuck a glance at Credence.

He was sitting on the floor with the book propped up on his knees, his eyes clouded with pain.

“Sorry.” Newt turned back to his potion. The subject made Newt faintly ill. He couldn't imagine how hard it was for Credence.

“I’m so stupid,” Credence said, almost to himself.

“No.” Newt faced Credence, ignoring the bubbling cauldron at his back. “Grindelwald is a powerful wizard, and he’s tricked more experienced people than you before. It’s not your fault.”

Credence stared at the book, his eyes unmoving. Newt knew Credence didn’t believe him. He could give Credence all the facts, but that wouldn’t make him understand, not if he didn’t want to.

Unable to think of any combination of words that might help Credence feel better, Newt went back to stirring the potion. This was another thing he’d have to think on—how to help Credence heal. Curing Credence’s Obscurus would go hand in hand with that.

A few minutes later Newt glanced down and realized he’d stirred the potion about thirty times too many. It had gone from a cheerful mint green to murky sludge. With a furtive glance over his shoulder it make sure Credence wasn’t witnessing his mistake, Newt vanished the offending potion and started all over.

 

 

Credence hardly spoke the rest of the day, but he actually ate at dinner now that the constant motion of the ship wasn’t turning his stomach. Newt wanted to urge him to eat more, but decided against a transformation into a full-fledged mother hen.

The waiter delivered their tea, and Credence just held his cup without drinking. Newt made a mental note to order him coffee next time. _Americans_.

Across the room, the waiter stopped to speak with the chief officer. Several times during their conversation, the men glanced at the table where Newt and Credence sat.

 _Right_ , Newt thought. “Well, best not to linger.” He took one last regretful sip of his excellent tea and stood.

Credence flinched, startled by the sudden change. Newt’s heart twisted, but there was no time to be sorry. Not with the waiter and the chief officer returning to their table. Credence’s dark eyes darted to them, then back to Newt. He understood well enough.

They very nearly made it to the door of the dining room before the chief officer caught up to them. Newt started to slip his wand out of his coat sleeve, but the officer grabbed his arm. The touch was light, more friendly than threatening, but it stopped Newt from being able to use a spell.

“Excuse me, Mr. Scamander.”

“Yes?” Newt said, staring at a fixed point on the far wall, as if staying perfectly still would disguise the fact he was standing next to a stowaway.

“I was wondering if you might introduce me to your friend.”

“Oh, yes.” Newt made himself look at the officer, made himself smile. “This is my—cousin, Credence Scamander. From America. Very excited to see him off on his tour of Europe.”

“I don’t recall any other Scamanders listed on the passenger manifest,” the officer said. “And I’d remember, it’s an unusual name.”

Beside Newt, Credence became agitated. Pressure like a building thunderstorm filled the air. The promise of impending violence shivered up Newt’s spine.

“That’s odd,” Newt said quickly, “I’ve got the passenger list here,” he pulled it out of his pocket. It had been given to all the passengers as a souvenir. The front had a detailed and rather romanticized painting of a steamship that looked far grander than the one they were currently aboard. “I remember seeing both our names—” He held the list out to the chief officer half a second after casting a spell to alter the page with his name on it.

“Hm.” The deck officer scanned the page, then frowned. “This list has two-hundred and twenty-three cabin passengers. There should only be two-hundred and twenty-two—”

Newt Obliviated him, finally able to get a good angle on the man with his wand.

“—two-hundred twenty-three. Yes. Well, sorry to have held you up, gentlemen.”

“No problem at all, sir.” Newt glanced at Credence. He seemed calmer now, and the aura of dark power was gone from him. “Good evening.”

When they were back in their cabin, Newt let out a long breath. Someone had been bound to notice Credence’s presence, but that wasn’t really Newt’s concern.

Credence had been close to losing control.

“I’m sorry,” Credence said, staring at the floor. “I shouldn’t have—but I thought he was going to tell everyone about me.”

Not close to losing control, then, only close to making a disastrous decision. “That’s alright. Just leave handling Muggles to me from now on.”

Down in his suitcase, Newt began rummaging through a trunk in his shed. Credence stood by the ladder, very still and out of the way. His continued silence had taken on tones of self-loathing rather than his more usual neutral quiet.

 _One thing at a time_ , Newt thought. “I can lend you some clothes until we get to London. After that, we’ll be able to get you something that actually fits properly.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“No matter.” Newt found a few shirts and trousers that would fit Credence. “It’s the least I can do.” Newt wasn’t hurting for money, and he hoped to get a decent advance on his manuscript. He’d only booked the cheapest second class cabin available because this had been the only spot left on the first ship to London.

“The least you can do? I don’t understand.” Credence curled his hands into fists, but the motion was more fearful than angry. “I haven’t done anything worth—worth paying back.”

“You’ve been wronged your entire life. It’s nearly killed you. Showing you a little kindness won’t change that, but—”

“You pity me. That’s all this is?”

“I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for you,” Newt said, watching Credence’s expression, trying to parse it. “I’m helping you because you deserve to be helped. Because I’ve seen an Obscurial die before, and I don’t intend to let it happen again.”

Credene’s hands trembled, and a tear rolled down his cheek. “But I’m a murderer. An abomination.”

Newt approached Credence, careful to keep his movements slow. Skittishness was something Newt was used to dealing with. “Yes, you killed people, but it was arguably self defense—”

“No.” Credence shook his head, still staring at the same spot on the ground. “I killed the man from the newspaper because I was angry. He—he said horrible things to me, but—”

“Your Obscurus is a reflection of all the terrible things that have happened to you.” Newt held out the bundle of clothes to Credence. He took them, slowly unclenching his fists. “I’m not saying what you did was right, but it—it doesn’t make you a monster.”

“You don't understand.” A few tears spattered the clothes in Credence’s hands. “Killing them made me feel powerful. It felt good, like I—” He faltered, unable to find the words.

“Like you finally had control of something?” Newt finished, voice soft. That made Credence look up at Newt. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, but through them shone a glimpse of open, raw anguish.

“Yes,” Credence breathed.

“I understand more than you think.” Newt turned away, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a peg. “In the war, I—” The scent of smoke and burning flesh filled his nose. “You’re not the only one in the room who’s taken a life.”

“But you were a soldier. It’s different.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. The people I killed—I didn’t know them.” Newt began undoing the buttons on his vest. He had to fight with a few because his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. “They were just as afraid of dying as I was. But at the time, all I felt was relief. The guilt only came later.”

“You were at war—”

“And you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by enemies.” Newt finally got his vest off and went to work on removing his tie. “What matters now is that you don’t hurt anyone else. You can’t fix the past, you can only accept it.”

Silence filled the room. Newt changed into pajamas and tried to force his thoughts away from the war. Not all of it had been bad—he’d enjoyed working with dragons, for the most part. But he’d never told anyone how killing enemy soldiers had made him feel. Newt looked over his shoulder.

Credence stood in the same spot, still staring at the clothes he held.

As pep talks went, maybe that hadn’t been Newt’s finest. “Would you prefer to sleep in the cabin or in here?” Newt gestured to his little camp bed.

“Here. Please.”

“I don’t blame you.” Newt waved his wand. A blanket and pillow floated out of his trunk and arranged themselves on the camp bed.

Finally moving, Credence sat on the edge of the bed, holding the clothes in his lap.

“If you’re not tired—”

“I am.”

“Make yourself at home.” Newt left the shed, going on one last round to check on everyone. He tried to coax Pickett back with the other bowtruckles, but of course Pickett would have none of that. Newt never could say no to him.

When he got back to the shed, Credence was lying down, eyes closed. Newt tried to walk quietly, but he slammed his knee into his desk, which had been sitting in the same spot for years and had never betrayed him like that before.

“I’m not asleep,” Credence said, propping himself up on his elbow.

“That’s lucky.” Newt got some spare bedding out of his trunk and laid it out on the ground. “Wouldn’t have wanted the sound of my kneecap shattering to wake you. Only joking,” Newt added when Credence looked genuinely concerned for his health.

Newt settled onto his small pile of blankets. He’d gotten used to sleeping in uncomfortable circumstances, so the hard ground didn’t bother him. The day had been a tiring one, and he started to drift off after a few minutes.

“Thank you,” Credence said, pulling Newt back into consciousness. “Thank you for helping me. For thinking I deserve it.”

“Grindelwald is a liar, and he’s wrong about almost everything. But he wasn’t wrong when he called you a miracle, Credence.”

Newt closed his eyes and pretended he couldn’t hear the faint sound of Credence crying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone! You've all been wonderful and very kind and it means more to me than I can express here!

Hating Newt Scamander was nearly impossible. Each time Credence bolstered his resolve to stay unattached, Newt would show him some new kindness and shatter the walls Credence built, leaving him breathless.

Graves had been full of promises and soft words and small gestures, but he’d never given Credence anything of substance. He’d only offered Credence enough to keep him coming back, to string him along. And Credence had been stupid enough to fall for it, stupid enough to think someone would bother caring about him.

But in the day Credence had spent with Newt, Newt hadn’t shown himself to be false. A day wasn’t a long time, but they’d spent it together, and Newt didn’t seem to grow impatient with Credence’s lack of progress. He’d also given Credence as much space as their circumstances allowed.

Despite knowing better, Credence had mostly used that opportunity to pretend to read a book about potions while watching Newt work. Newt was no less mesmerizing while mixing a potion—how his rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed his slender wrists, the steady, confident way he moved, how he hummed to himself without seeming to realize—and Credence had indulged in watching him, trying to ignore his mother’s voice in the back of his head. _Abomination abomination abomination_.

Credence had stayed awake long into the night, well after his tears had dried, listening to the sound of Newt breathing and the rustle of the animals outside the shed. He hadn’t wanted to fall asleep, because nightmares usually waited for him there, but for once he woke without remembering any dreams.

A sudden noise jarred Credence from sleep. He bolted up to find Newt had knocked over a bucket full of tools. Newt righted them with a wave of his wand.

“Sorry about that,” Newt said. His hair was tousled from sleep. “Would you like to help me check on everyone before breakfast?”

This time Credence was able to remember a few more names and details as he followed Newt through his routine. The scope of the inside of the suitcase wasn’t any less astonishing to Credence this morning, and the creatures were no less fascinating. So many of them should have been dangerous but weren’t. They were large enough to kill Newt, but instead they showed him as much affection as he gave them.

When Newt had finished his rounds, he led Credence upstairs into the cabin, then down the hall to the gentleman’s baths. There was a short line, and the men in front of them struck up a conversation with Newt while they all waited. Credence tried to go unnoticed. His efforts were mostly successful, only failing when Newt introduced him as his American cousin.

When they reached the front of the line, Newt offered to let Credence go first, but he declined.

“Alright,” Newt said. He held out the little stick creature named Pickett. Credence couldn’t recall if that was the individual’s name or the name of the species. “Can you take care of him for me? Just keep him in your shirt.”

“Yes, of course.” Credence took Pickett. He struggled to go back to Newt.

“This is temporary, calm down,” Newt said. “Credence’s body heat is just as good as mine.”

Careful not to hurt the little creature, Credence placed Pickett on his shoulder. He promptly scurried under the collar of Credence’s shirt, weighing so little Credence could hardly tell he was there. Credence stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement might snap Pickett in two. That would certainly bring an end to Newt’s willingness to help him.

For several minutes Credence spiraled into imagined scenarios in which he accidentally hurt the creatures in Newt’s case. If he lost control and killed one of the animals, Newt would turn him over to the authorities, and he’d probably be executed. Jailed for life at the very least.

“Credence?” Newt appeared from behind a partition, dressed in a shirt and trousers with his hair still damp. The water turned his red locks into a deep auburn that shone with highlights.

“Pickett’s fine.”

“I never doubted it.” Newt took Pickett back, giving Credence a strange look. “Your turn.”

The air in the baths was warm and humid. Droplets gathered on the marble sinks and made the tile floor slick. The water ran hot, and Credence sat submerged in it for as long as his lungs could bear.

So much comfort wasn’t right, he didn’t deserve it. Even the towel the bath attendant had given him was too soft. Credence trusted none of it because none of it would last. He was on borrowed time.

And in his experience, putting off punishment only made it worse.

 

 

After breakfast, they returned to Newt’s shed for more practice. Credence held Newt’s wand, which he almost imagined felt resentful of him. But that wasn’t possible. The wand was just a stick.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Credence said, copying Newt as closely as he could. Nothing happened. If he hadn’t seen Newt use the spell successfully, he might have thought it wasn’t real at all. No sphere of light appeared at the tip of the wand like it was supposed to.

He tried again, and again, and again. Each time the Obscurus stirred inside him, but he kept the power from lashing out like it wanted.

“It won’t ever work,” Credence said, lowering the wand. “All I can do is destroy things and hurt people.”

“You’ve only tried a few dozen times—”

“How many times did it take you?”

Newt, who was sitting a few feet from Credence, frowned. “A few. But I had the significant advantage of not being an Obscurial. I warned you this was new territory. You’re powerful enough to control your Obscurus, so you might be strong enough to banish it forever.”

Credence stared at the wand in his hand. “ _Lumos_.”

His control wavered and a dark tendril of power shot out from him, cracking the floor between him and Newt. Credence dropped the wand and recoiled, body trembling.

But Newt hadn’t even flinched. He took his wand back and said, “ _Reparo_.” The wooden boards healed in seconds. “No harm done.” Newt’s smile was easy, relaxed.

“I could have killed you—”

“You’re not giving me nearly enough credit.”

Burying his face in his hands, Credence fought back tears of self-loathing. “I told you all I’m good for is destruction. That’s all he wanted me for—”

“Grindelwald is a fool. A talented fool, but a fool nonetheless.” Newt leaned forward, reaching out as if to take Credence’s hand.

Credence flinched away, not out of fear of being hurt, but fear of how he would react to being touched. His control was already shaky enough.

Regret and sadness flashed over Newt’s face, but he hid it with a smile. “You might be onto something, though, about destruction.”

Cold filled Credence, spreading from his chest to his limbs. Did Newt want him for the same reason as Graves—Grindelwald?

“Not with your Obscurus,” Newt said quickly, looking horrified at himself. “But an Obscurus isn’t the only way to break things with magic.”

“I thought magic wasn’t evil.”

“It isn’t. Destruction can be useful. Clearing rubble, making new paths.” Newt scrambled to his feet, then darted out of the shed. Credence sat very still, trying to calm his heart, and waited. After a few moments Newt hurried back in and set a few rocks on the ground, then sat across from Credence again.

“ _Reducto_.” With a small flash of light, the rock split into pieces of gravel. “ _Reparo_.” The rock came back together again. “See?”

Credence took newt’s wand, his hands still trembling. He pointed the wand at one of the rocks and tried out the spell. “ _Reducto_.”

Nothing happened but more of the same strain of his Obscurus to answer his call.

“Don’t start in on all that _it’ll never work_ nonsense,” Newt said, his voice cheerful. “This isn’t a first-year spell. It’s much more advanced, so it’s only natural it will take you longer to get it right.”

Credence tried a dozen or so times, then had to stop because of a throbbing headache. Newt gave him a potion to cure it but agreed it was best to pause practice for now.

Lunch was still hours away, and there wasn’t much to fill time but read. Newt lent Credence something called _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ so he could study passages on theory. But after half an hour of reading about how eleven-year-olds could do so much more than him, he snapped the book shut in frustration.

Newt was sitting at his desk, using an ancient typewriter. He glanced at Credence.

“Sorry,” Credence said. Anger was a sin, he shouldn’t be showing his so easily—

“I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s like you’re in school, but you should be enjoying yourself. We’re practically on holiday.” Newt turned around, smiling wistfully at the ceiling. “Steamships are brilliant, aren’t they? Muggles certainly are innovative without magic. Did you know they have a library on board? With Muggle books? Perhaps you’d find one of those more interesting.”

“No, thank you.” Credence had read the Bible many times over, and other religious books his mother had deemed acceptable. He’d hated them all. Each one had made him feel small and broken and wrong.

“There’s a swimming pool.”

“I can’t swim.”

“Hm.” Newt pondered for a moment. “Well, the ballroom won’t be open until the evening—”

“She always said dancing is sinful.”

“Only if you’re spectacularly bad at it.”

For a moment Credence didn’t realize Newt was kidding.

“Do you know what Apparition is?” Newt asked when Credence didn’t laugh at his joke.

“No.” Credence was as ignorant as he was inadequate, and each new time he learned something commonplace about the wizarding world it still stung with shame.

“It’s going from one place to another instantly—”

“Oh.” A tremor ran through Credence. “Grindelwald—he did that. Took me with him.” It hadn’t been pleasant.

“The first time is always a bit of a shock. But if you’re willing to do it again, I think we can get up to a little mischief.”

“You said you didn’t want trouble.”

“No trouble during lunch. I so rarely have the opportunity for regular meals, it’s why I enjoy Muggle travel so much. Flying is faster, but you always miss tea time.”

“Flying?” Credence could fly, after a fashion, but only when his Obscurus took over.

“On broomsticks.”

Credence stared at Newt, waiting for his usual grin to show he was joking. It never came. Credence wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

Newt leaned back in his chair, stretching. “Well?”

“I—” Credence hesitated. Apparition wasn’t fun, but it only lasted a moment. And he was curious to discover what Newt had in mind. Purposefully misbehaving wasn’t something Credence was used to, but he was open to the idea. It would be better than sitting here wallowing in how useless he was. “Yes.”

Newt opened his trunk and pulled out a heavy coat and scarf. “Here you are, then. It’ll be cold.”

Credence took the coat and scarf and followed Newt into the cabin. He bundled up as Newt tied his case with twine. Newt offered his elbow to Credence.

Even through layers of fabric, touching Newt made Credence’s heart race. He stared at the floor to hide the flush that crept into his cheeks. A moment later, Newt Apparated.

Newt hadn’t been wrong. This time was less of a horrible shock, and Credence found it wasn’t nearly as bad as he remembered. But he didn’t have much time to analyze the sensation. His foot slipped, and he pitched forward into the sky—

Before Credence toppled to his death, Newt steadied him, grinning. “I probably should have warned you, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

They stood on top of one of the ship’s two smokestacks. Behind them, dark clouds spewed into the air, ripped away from them by the wind. Blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds and the shimmering ocean stretched in front of them. The noise of passengers and crew was distant, almost gone.

Up this high the whole world seemed too far away to matter. Credence closed his eyes, and the temporary peace skittered away.

Newt tugged his arm, motioning for him to sit on the edge. Seated, Credence felt a little less surreal.

“I love sitting this high up,” Newt said. “It’s a nice place to think. And the Muggles never notice you. Usually.” His voice was so gentle the wind almost carried it away without Credence hearing.

With the collar of his blue coat up, his scarf around his neck, and color high in his cheeks from the cold, Newt was beautiful. But there was a melancholy set to his mouth and eyes that made something sharp twist inside Credence.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“What?” Newt turned from the view to look at Credence. “No, of course not. If you don’t like it up here—”

“I like it, I do.” Credence stared down at the ship instead of at Newt. Meeting his eye always made Credence’s stomach ache after a few moments. “But you don’t seem to.”

“I miss my friends. One of them, Jacob, he’s a Muggle. He would have loved this. He’s as new to magic as you are.” Newt frowned. “He was, I mean.”

“Is he—did I—?” Had Credence accidentally killed a bystander without even realizing?

“No, he’s alive. But we had to take his memories away. It’s—” Newt rubbed his eyes. “It’s not important.”

Credence wanted to tell Newt it _was_ important, if he cared about it. But Credence bit back the words. Newt was a means to an end, just as Credence was a means to an end for Newt. What that end might be, Credence wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with the fame and respect Newt would gain if he were the first person to cure an Obscurial.

Heavy silence fell between them, punctuated by the whistle of wind around the smokestack. Gradually Credence’s worry turned his stomach enough to make him nauseous. His head ached, too—

Newt pulled a vial out of his pocket. “Almost forgot. Seasick again?”

“Yes.” The potion tasted of peppermint and ginger and something else Credence couldn’t place, but it filled him with warmth and cleared his head. “Thank you.”

“I’d like you to try something, Credence.”

“What?” Apprehension crept up his spine.

“Spend some time every day meditating on the fact your magic is part of you, a good part, a natural part. Remind yourself using magic isn’t wrong, and that no one is going to punish you for it.”

“I already know all that.”

“Knowing and believing aren’t the same.”

That gave Credence pause. He nodded after a moment. “I’ll try.” Meditation seemed a lot like prayer, but without the hollow certainty that no one was listening.

“It might help.” Newt waved his wand and two mugs appeared in midair, steam rising from them and being swept away by the wind just as quickly. “Do you like hot cocoa?”

“I don’t know.” Credence took the mug that floated in front of him. Mary Lou Barebone hadn’t believed in such frivolities, and she’d never given Credence any pocket money, so he hadn’t had the chance to buy any.

“Go on, then.” Newt smiled in the same way he did when he was showing Credence some new aspect of magic. Newt watched him for a reaction.

Inexplicably on edge because of Newt’s scrutiny, Credence took a hesitant sip. He was worried he wouldn’t care for the drink and that he’d disappoint Newt. But hot cocoa tasted even better than Credence had imagined, and there seemed to be almost as much magic in it as the seasickness potion.

A small bit of the pain knotted up inside him loosened. He took another sip, staring out at the horizon, an infinity away. The scent of salt and chocolate mingled with the smell of cedar that still clung to his borrowed scarf and coat. The wind was icy, but the sun was as warm as the mug in his hands. For a moment, being an Obscurial didn’t matter, for a moment he was part of this—this enchantment, this world suspended above everything. For a moment Credence belonged right where he was, and they were simply two wizards wrapped in magic and companionable quiet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before,” Newt said with a strange expression on his face. “You look different, like a whole new man. It suits you.”

Credence hadn’t thought his cheeks could get any more flushed, wind-chapped as they were, but Newt’s words made Credence’s pulse flutter and heat rise under his skin. He hid his reaction behind the rim of his mug until Newt looked away.

_Help, help, help_ , Credence thought, calling out to no one, to the empty sky above him. Hating Newt was impossible. He’d have to cut out his own traitorous heart to do it.

When this ended, Credence would suffer, but he couldn’t find it in himself to believe the pain wouldn’t be worth it, just a little.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and get ready for some Very Exciting Things coming up soon!
> 
> (And as always, a million thank-yous to everyone for being so amazing!)

When the captain announced land had been sighted, Newt and Credence were in the saloon, playing a game of regular, boring Muggle chess. Newt had tried to teach Credence with his old wizard chess set, but Credence had found the extreme violence of the pieces to be off-putting.

“Checkmate,” Credence said.

“Ah, so it is. Excellent trap, and I walked right into it.” Newt knocked his own king over with a melodramatic sigh. “It’s just not the same when I do it.”

After they reset the board, Newt grabbed his case and stood. He checked his watch, which was still miraculously in his pocket, and found it to be a quarter to noon.

“Perfect. Care for a picnic, Credence?”

“On the sun deck?” Credence followed Newt into the hall.

“Not exactly. First we'll need to make a stop by the kitchens.”

Because of the impending meal, the kitchen was overflowing with workers, and one spotted Newt immediately.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, “can’t be here. Dining room’s a deck up.”

“Right, of course.” Newt took Credence to an empty hallway, then held out his arm. Used to Apparating around the ship now, Credence placed his hand on Newt’s elbow with a light touch. They Apparated into a storeroom.

Rows of shelving filled the space, still laden with food despite the fact the journey was almost over. Steamships brought along enough food for months at sea, though the voyage only took about a week. No one would even notice if Newt availed himself of a few odds and ends.

“Are—are we stealing?” Credence asked, aghast.

“It’s not stealing. Food is included in the price of the ticket.”

“But I’m already a stowaway—”

“Details,” Newt waved Credence’s worry away with a hand. “Grab anything you like. I can leave gold behind.”

Newt’s skill with cooking spells wasn’t spectacular, but he could get along well enough. After a few minutes they had a serviceable collection of raw materials: potatoes, butter, two large steaks, apples, and some sugar. Newt was just about to Apparate with Credence when a cook walked in on them. Standing in the center of the storeroom with arms full of food happened to be incredibly incriminating.

“What are you doing in here—?”

“Just leaving, actually,” Newt said. He grabbed the sleeve of Credence’s coat and ran for it, through a set of double doors opposite the ones the cook had come through. A few apples tumbled out of his grip, but he let them be—all conflicts had casualties.

The doors opened up to a corridor busy with crew members. Every single one of them stopped to stare at Newt and Credence. Newt couldn’t very well Disapparate in front of them all.

“Never mind that,” Newt said, pulling Credence back into the storeroom. The opening door hit the cook who was chasing them, knocking him down. “Sorry,” Newt called as he sprinted by. Another apple fell. At this rate he wouldn’t have any left at all.

The kitchens were on the other side of the storeroom, but it was in such chaos they made it halfway across before someone realized they didn’t belong.

“Hey! Didn’t I just tell you two this area’s off-limits?”

All the scurrying workers turned to obstacles in an instant. Still keeping his hold on his food and Credence’s sleeve, Newt dodged around the Muggles and racks of dishes and supplies. The scent of food made Newt’s stomach rumble, and he snagged a tray of pastries as he ran past. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon_ , he thought. It was worth it just for the alternating expressions of amusement, shock, and horror on Credence’s face.

They rounded a corner and were at last out of sight of Muggles. “Here, take this,” Newt shoved the tray of pastries into Credence’s free hand, then Apparated them away.

They landed on top of the forward smokestack. Newt conjured a platform before Credence’s momentum sent him falling to the decks below.

“That—that was—”

Newt cast a Disillusionment charm on the wooden boards under their feet, so that if Muggles looked up they’d only see the sky.

“That was crazy, we could have been caught and—and kicked off—”

“Nonsense. Worst they’d do is fine me.” Newt set his food down and got to work magicking it into a meal.

“Won’t they be looking for us?”

“I don’t intend to leave the ship by usual means. Going through customs is fun, but I don’t see the need when it’s my home country. You’d just have to hide in the case, anyway.”

On the horizon a dark smear appeared, England growing nearer. Newt had been away for some time, and he hadn’t missed it much, but now his head was full of thoughts of Diagon Alley and the chance to sleep in a real bed.

There was, of course, the problem of what to tell everyone about Credence. His usual lie about an American cousin wouldn’t work on wizards and witches. Everyone knew everyone else’s family, the nosy gits.

No doubt the news of what happened in New York had circulated the community a hundred times by now, and if someone connected Credence to the mysterious Obscurial that terrorized the city, it wouldn’t end well. The Ministry would extradite Credence back to America, and they’d probably charge Newt with harboring a fugitive. He couldn’t very well mount a daring rescue of his student if he himself were in Azkaban, so it would be best if they both stayed out of prison.

“How’s your English accent?” Newt asked Credence.

“I don’t know.” Credence had been watching the food magically cook, but now he met Newt’s eye for a fraction of a second.

“Go on, then. Give it a whirl.” Newt conjured a picnic blanket and sat down on it. “Don’t be shy.”

Credence did. It was a dreadful attempt.

“Is that what you think I sound like?” Newt asked, feigning offense.

“No, sorry. You sound much more—uh, natural.”

“Can you do any accent other than American?”

“Probably not.” Credence slumped. “Is how I talk part of why I can’t get spells to work?”

“What?” Newt realized he’d explained none of his planning to Credence. “No, of course not. I’m just trying to keep us out of jail.” He summarized the problem. By the time he finished, lunch was ready.

They ate in thoughtful silence. The day was colder than usual, but Newt kept them warm with a few fires around the platform. Credence stared at one, entranced, the blue light dancing over his features and lighting up his eyes. Newt never grew tired of finding new ways to delight Credence with magic.

“Maybe I could just stay in your suitcase,” Credence said, when all the pastries were gone.

“That’s only a temporary fix—”

“You said I could travel with you as long as I wanted.”

“And you can. But you can’t live in there forever. I can’t just make you a habitat and drop by three times a day to deliver your meals. That’s a prison, too.” Newt stared at the approaching land. “We’ll have to get you a proper cover story, one that explains why you’re traveling with me. Ah, of course. Might as well go with the truth.”

“But the truth will get us arrested—”

“Half of the truth. You’re my student already. We’ll just tell everyone you’re interested in Magizoology. That’ll stop anyone from asking for more details.”

“Why?” Credence began gathering the empty dishes, stacking them neatly.

“No one takes it seriously, and there’s nothing they hate more than hearing about it. At least in my experience. _Scourgify_.” With a wave of his wand, Newt cleaned the dishes.

“But everyone in your case, they’re all so amazing. No one cares about them?”

“Not many people. Not yet. I hope my book changes that.” Newt frowned. “I should warn you, I’m not that popular here, and my reputation will likely extend to you as well.”

“Can’t be worse than before.”

No wonder Credence still hadn’t warmed up to Newt, when he kept saying such thoughtless things. Newt tossed the dishes into his case, then secured the twine around it again. “Ready to get your land legs back?”

Credence nodded. Newt vanished the picnic blanket, then the platform, and Apparated them to England.

 

 

The sky over London was dreary, but at least it wasn’t raining. Beside Newt, Credence stumbled.

“Takes some getting used to, going from a ship to solid ground. You’ll be fine in a few hours.” As soon as Newt was sure Credence wouldn’t topple over, he released his arm. Even after a week, Credence still seemed averse to touching Newt for any period of time, and he would still hardly look at him. Newt wasn’t sure if he hoped the tendencies were universal or just specific to Newt himself. Either way, if the idiosyncrasies were due to the way he’d been treated all his life, Newt hoped Credence managed to recover.

“Where are we?” Credence asked.

“Welcome to London.” Newt spread his arms, gesturing to the lackluster street around them. It was mostly full of shops. A few Muggle pedestrians gave Newt an odd look.

Though Credence’s face was still neutral, amusement sparkled in his eyes.

“We can visit all the tourist spots later. Now it’s time to get you some proper Muggle clothes that aren’t my hand-me-downs.”

“I don’t mind them, you don’t have to waste money on me—”

“It’s not a waste. I doubt anything is ever wasted on you, Credence.” Newt smiled, happy to be in familiar territory. He’d spent so much of the last years in strange places, forging new paths, he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to turn a corner and already know what he was going to see.

In this case, it was his favorite Muggle clothing shop. There were places to buy such things in Diagon Alley, but Newt preferred the genuine article. And he still had a bit of Muggle money weighing his pockets down.

Inside the shop was a riot of color. The owner greeted him and showed him the latest fashions she’d gotten in. She took Credence’s measurements and together she and Newt chose a decent beginning for a wardrobe. Credence didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Well, that’s odd,” the shop owner said, “all these clothes already fit you perfectly. I won’t have to tailor them at all.”

“How fortunate,” Newt agreed, slipping his wand back into his sleeve. “No need to wrap them up.”

Credence left the shop wearing a new three-piece suit that didn’t make him look like he was going to a funeral. It was apparently quite a change for him. Mary Lou Barebone had done everything she could to drain all the joy out of life for Credence. It was a wonder he’d resisted lashing out at her for so long. But if Credence were lacking in control, he wouldn’t have survived as long as he had possessed by an Obscurus.

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” Newt asked once they’d put Credence’s new clothes in his case, and checked on all the beasts.

“I don’t know. I’ve never even dreamed of coming to London. I don’t know anything about it.”

Newt got him a guidebook, which was a little unnecessary, but Credence enjoyed flipping through it. They went to see Big Ben, St. Paul’s, Tower Bridge, all the usual spots. Credence was almost as impressed by London as he was with magic.

“Everything in New York changes,” Credence said. “But all this has been here so long. It’s so much more permanent than we are.” His expression closed off, receded. Newt wanted to comfort him, to tell Credence his life could be long and happy, and that he didn't have to see death in the bricks and mortar of the world, but the chance for life.

“What does the book say about places to eat?” Newt asked instead.

After a drawn-out dinner in a restaurant the guide suggested, Newt had to accept the fact he was stalling. They could only spend so much time mucking around the Muggle parts of London, but Newt was nervous someone would see right through who Credence was, even though Credence’s existence defied all the conventional wisdom about Obscurials.

“Alright, Credence,” Newt said, offering his elbow. “Time to introduce you to the wizarding community.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.” Credence slouched a little, folding in on himself. But he took Newt’s arm.

“Nonsense. You’ll do splendidly, and nothing bad will happen.”

They Apparated to an alley across the street from the Leaky Cauldron. The sidewalks were busy with Muggles, but they all ignored Newt and Credence as they walked into the pub.

Credence looked around, uneasy. At first Newt thought he was afraid of being found out, until Credence spoke.

“They serve alcohol here?”

“Course they do. No one in England is mad enough to suggest outlawing it.”

“It’s—not what I expected.”

Newt tried to take in the scene as an outsider. The place wasn’t that busy. There were a few groups of wizards and witches having dinner and a pint, and some people at the bar a little further along. But it wasn’t rowdy. It was just a pub, one that happened to be bursting with magic.

“Well,” Newt said, “the orgy doesn’t start until after nine—joking,” he added, when it appeared Newt may have caused Credence lasting harm, “only joking!”

Credence got a table in the corner while Newt ordered them butterbeer.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Mr. Scamander,” Tom said as he handed him the drinks.

“Yes, back in town for a bit. Going to get a book published about my studies of magical creatures—”

“Who’s your friend?” Tom nodded to Credence, who was sitting still enough he might have been auditioning for a role as a statue.

“New Magizoology assistant. Very interested in—”

“Yes, well, I’ve got to, uh, clean these glasses.” Tom escaped to the other end of the bar.

“Right.” Newt took the mugs back to their table. “Well,” Newt said to Credence, “the story about who you are should get round. Tom’s a horrible gossip.”

Newt drank his butterbeer and sighed. He hadn’t had any in ages. Credence took a tentative sip, expression changing from guarded to delighted in an instant. _Honestly_ , Newt thought, _at this rate causing all this unbridled amazement is going to go to my head_.

While he drank his first butterbeer, Credence watched the other patrons. There was nothing exceptional about them to Newt, but they were wearing wizard robes and pointed hats and doing the sort of casual magic Newt took for granted. But to Credence it must have been beyond strange.

“You’re part of this now,” Newt told Credence, careful to keep his voice low. “One day you won’t think twice about using summoning charms or stirring your tea with magic. Well, coffee, I suppose, unless I can break you of the habit.”

“Or you’ll realize coffee is better.” Credence stared into his half-empty mug. “Alcohol doesn’t seem bad at all, about as evil as magic.”

“Well, butterbeer is hardly representative. I could order you something stronger.”

“Does it all taste this good?”

“Not exactly.”

_In retrospect_ , Newt thought an hour later, _I should have known better when he started laughing at my jokes. He never laughs at my jokes._

Credence was well and truly tipsy, and he’d only had half a glass of mead. Newt had taken the glass away when he realized what the flush in Credence’s cheeks meant, what his near-constant smile and occasional giggles signified. Being drunk would be dangerous for Credence, and probably for everyone around him.

“Alright,” Newt said, standing. “Let’s get some rest, it’s been a long day—”

“A good day.” Credence was steady on his feet, a hopeful sign. “Every day with you is better than the one before.”

Behind the bar, Tom raised an eyebrow. “Will you be needing a room?”

“Yes.” Newt paused. Leaving Credence alone might end badly, but Newt didn’t want to treat Credence like a prisoner under lock and key. What was the good in telling Credence to trust and accept himself if Newt couldn’t extend Credence the same courtesy? “Two rooms.” He paused. “Adjoining.” There was no use in tempting fate.

“That’s a waste of money,” Credence said, brows furrowed. “I can sleep in your case, I don’t mind.”

“The beds here are perfectly wonderful, we might as well enjoy them.” Newt could feel Tom watching them, but when he looked, Tom had gone to fetch keys. He brought them back and handed one to each of them.

Credence took his, subdued. The alcohol must have been wearing off.

“American, eh?” Tom asked as he led them upstairs.

“Yes, sir,” Credence said.

“Ilvermorny graduate, then?”

“Yes,” Newt answered quickly.

“Always found that school to sound a bit dodgy. What house were you?”

“He was a—Thunderbird,” Newt said, thinking of Frank. “You know, across the Pond they’re just as backwards about relations with magical creatures—”

“Well, room’s down the hall,” Tom said. “I trust you can find it yourselves? I’ve got—uh—cleaning—”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Newt led Credence to their adjoining rooms, trying not to let a hysterical laugh leave his throat. He hadn’t thought much about Credence’s cover story. And what would they do if someone expected Credence to do magic, and he didn’t even have a wand?

Those were all problems for tomorrow.

“What’s Ilvermorny?” Credence asked.

“Wizarding school in America. You’ll have to pretend to have gone there. Just talk loudly about how much better it is than Hogwarts—”

“Hog...warts? Did I have more to drink than I thought?”

“It’s the school here in Britain. Just pretend to think your school is the best. You know, play up the rivalry.”

“So the schools are like the Yankees and the Red Sox?”

“Who?”

Credence laughed, laughed for real, not the giggles of too much mead, but from pure delight. “Wizards don’t play baseball?”

“Is that the one where Muggles stand around in a field and wait for something interesting to happen?”

They hovered in front of their respective rooms. Newt found he didn’t want to say goodnight. But that was foolish. They’d spent a whole week cooped up together. Credence was probably out of his mind to get away from Newt for a night, since Credence couldn’t stand him. He was just too polite to tell Newt to go away.

“Yes, that’s baseball.” Credence laughed again at Newt’s ignorance, which was only fair. There was so much Credence didn’t know about the magical world, it must have been nice to be the one who wasn’t confused for once. Newt let him have his little victory. He’d mention Quidditch another time.

The silence stretched thin. “Well, goodnight, Credence.”

“Goodnight, Newt.”

“If you need anything—”

“Yeah, thanks.” Credence unlocked his door and disappeared through it.

In his own room, Newt set his case on the floor and took off his overcoat and scarf. He was undoing his tie when a knock sounded on the door. He opened it to find Credence standing with his eyes downcast, nervous shyness hovering around him.

“Would you like help feeding everyone?” Credence asked.

Though the room was a little chilly—he hadn’t lit a fire in the hearth yet—warmth like summer sunlight spread through Newt, starting in his chest. “Yes, I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think of the bartender at the Leaky Cauldron as the same kind of figure as the Trolly Witch on the Hogwarts Express: an eternal fixture who's just always sort of around.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've written most of this on breaks at work, and since I work retail, things are extra hellish lately. This fic is my happy place and it's so wonderful that you all are finding some joy reading it! Thanks again to everyone!

The sky was still dark when Credence woke, but only because he’d fallen asleep in the Mooncalf habitat. They surrounded him, twitching in slumber. It took some time, but eventually Credence managed to leave the herd without waking anyone up.

His new clothes were rumpled and his mouth tasted like ash, but otherwise Credence felt fantastic for someone who’d slept on the ground instead of a perfectly fine mattress. He and Newt had stayed up long into the night, seeing to the animals and talking. Credence couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he did recall finding a nice patch of ground to rest on.

“Good morning,” Newt said. He’d been awake for a while by the look of him, and he probably hadn’t slept in his clothes. He was in the shed, carefully arranging a stack of typed pages that must have been his manuscript. When he was done, he tapped the pages with his wand. They folded up into a small square that Newt tucked into his pocket. “Sorry I didn’t wake you, you just seemed so peaceful—”

“I don’t mind.” And truthfully he didn’t. Credence was just relieved he hadn’t bothered Newt by knocking on his door, asking to assist him on his usual nightly rounds. Credence worried he was a burden, and if he hadn’t had a little more to drink than he should have, he wouldn’t have had the courage. But the mead had made him bold enough, and Newt had seemed happy for the company.

Credence did feel guilty Newt had wasted money on a room, and all he used it for was a bath—in a tub that used magic, and had nineteen different options for types of water—and to get dressed in another new suit.

“We’ll get you some wizard robes today.” Newt said over breakfast. “I have a meeting later, but before that I’ll show you all around Diagon Alley.”

“Diagonally to what?”

Newt seemed to find that question hilarious. When Newt brought him behind the Leaky Cauldron and showed him what he meant, Credence was too entranced to feel embarrassed for the misunderstanding.

Diagon Alley rose around them, all chaos and bright colors and crowds in clothing that would have given Mary Lou a fit. But for once the clamor of her shrieking voice in Credence’s mind wasn’t loud enough to overcome his wonder. A magical community, a space for people like him, like Newt and Miss Goldstein. It was more than he'd ever hoped for.

Credence turned to Newt and realized Newt had been watching him with the same interest Credence himself had been looking at all the shops and people. Credence’s cheeks flushed, and his attempts to speak failed.

He was rescued from his sudden attack of nerves by a snowflake that drifted into his field of vision. It was followed by many more. Credence looked at the heavy clouds, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

“You enjoy snow?” Newt asked.

“No, I’ve always hated it. Ma—Mary Lou made me shovel the walks every time. I never got to play with the other kids.” Credence paused. “But here it’s just snow. It can just be what it is, instead of a chore for me.”

A gust of wind rushed past them, and Credence shivered, pulling the collar of his overcoat higher. He’d given his borrowed scarf back to Newt along with the old coat now that he had his own.

“Here,” Newt said, taking off the black and yellow scarf he always wore. “Take mine. I don’t need it.”

“I’m fine—” Newt cut Credence off by wrapping the scarf around Credence’s neck. It was warm from Newt’s skin and smelled of his aftershave.

“Those colors suit you,” Newt said, almost sounding proud. “You’d have made an excellent Hufflepuff.”

“What’s a Hufflepuff?”

“I am—and you are, too, now. An honorary Hufflepuff. I’m no Sorting Hat, mind, but I’m sure it would have made the same choice.” Newt grinned. Snowflakes landed in his hair like little stars, and one lighted on his eyelashes. Credence wanted to brush it away but kept his hands firmly in his pockets.

“Are you going to explain any of that?”

“It’s a Hogwarts house. The best one. The other three houses waste all their time showboating while Hufflepuffs just get things done. Our colors are yellow and black,” Newt added, lightly flicking the end of the scarf.

“If it means so much to you, I can’t wear it—”

“Don’t be silly.” Newt turned and began walking into the narrow street that ran between the shops.

Credence hurried to catch up. He was going to insist Newt take the scarf back, but he got distracted by, well, everything. The snow, the people, the scents in the air, the wares for sale that defied imagination. They walked past a shop selling broomsticks, and Credence gaped. Maybe Newt hadn’t been joking about that after all. And the pictures on the ads moved, enticing viewers to buy.

“So much is possible,” Credence said, the ache of longing in his chest. He was used to it, had been for a while, only now it was for something just as unattainable as Graves’s or Newt’s love—to be a normal wizard, one without a dark force swirling inside him.

“You’re right,” Newt said, shifting his case from one hand to the other. “And never forget that it’s possible for you to get better.”

They wandered further down the street. Newt asked Credence if he’d like to go in any stores, but Credence didn’t want to answer questions or talk to anyone. He preferred to window shop.

“There’s Ollivanders,” Newt said. “Better not be seen lingering outside here.”

“Why?” Credence followed Newt down the street.

“No reason.” Newt pulled his pocket watch out. “It's time for my appointment, Credence, and I’m afraid it’d be best if you didn’t come with me. Where I’m going they’ll actually be asking questions about my work, and if I say you’re my student, they’ll expect you to know at least half as much as I do.”

“I don’t mind.” Though Diagon Alley was twisty and full of mesmerizing things, Credence remembered well enough how to get back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Newt handed him a few gold coins. “In case you see something you simply can’t live without—”

“I don’t need money, I couldn’t—you’ve already done so much for me—”

“And you've been working as my assistant for over a week. It's only right I give you a wage.”

Credence stared at the gold in his hand. He had no idea how much it was in US dollars. “Are you sure this is a fair wage?”

“Of course not, you’re right,” Newt pulled more coins out of his pocket. “Didn’t mean to stiff you.”

“It seems like it’s too much.”

“It isn’t. I’ll also need you to take care of this while I’m away.” Newt handed Credence his case.

“Of course.” A flush of warmth rushed through Credence. Newt trusted him enough to watch over his suitcase. Credence shoved the gold coins in his pocket and stood up a little straighter.

The snow fell harder now, starting to gather on the edges of the street in drifts. Credence wished he could freeze the moment forever, standing there with Newt, the cold weather no match for the small star that burned in his heart.

Newt patted his pockets, then grinned at Credence. “Wish me luck.” Newt said. He Disapparated away.

With Newt gone, Credence felt a little more like a stranger in Diagon Alley, but the shops and people were still mesmerizing enough to keep his spirits buoyed. He plucked up the courage to go into a store selling animals. Most of them were owls of varying breeds and sizes, but they also had rats, lizards, and cats. Credence felt a little bad for the animals for being stuck in small cages all day, but Credence didn’t think Newt would appreciate him adding beasts to the suitcase.

He left the store feeling a little down, but he walked past a shop called Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, which sold clothes like most of the people in the Alley wore. Credence wandered in, marveling at the strange fashion. Would he ever feel at home wearing robes?

“How can I help you, dear?” An old woman asked.

“I was—I was just browsing—”

“American, hm?” She eyed the suitcase in his hand. “Just get into town?”

“Yes, ma’am. Yesterday.”

“You must be that Scamander boy’s new assistant.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The gossip had already spread, as Newt predicted. Panic fluttered in the base of Credence’s skull, but he forced his power to stay in check. She’d bought the story. Everyone would buy it.

“I fitted him for all his Hogwarts robes, you know. An odd boy, nothing like his older brother. And of course there was the unpleasant business with his expulsion—”

Credence had been listening while staring around at all the different colors of robes, but his attention snapped back to the woman.

“But still, he seemed to have a good heart.”

“He does.” Credence hadn't known Newt had been expelled from school. There was probably a great deal he didn’t know about Newt, because Newt spent all his time talking about his beasts or magic or trying to help Credence. Credence realized he’d never asked Newt a single thing about him. What kind of friend did that? It was bad enough he had so many horrible thoughts and urges about Newt, he could at least play the part of a real friend instead of a monster—

“Are you feeling well?” she asked.

“No, I’m not. I’d better go. Thank you for your help.” Credence hurried back into the falling snow, gripping the case so tight his fingers hurt. Suddenly the scarf around his neck was too tight, and the scent of Newt that clung to it was too strong. His head felt light and his stomach churned.

In his haste to return to the Leaky Cauldron, Credence bumped into another pedestrian, sending her bags of shopping tumbling to the ground.

“So sorry, ma’am,” he said, stooping to gather all the strange bottles and flasks that had spilled out of the bags.

“Quite alright, dear,” the woman said. With a wave of her wand all the loose items rushed back into their proper bags, and the bags floated back into her arms.

Credence stood, brushing snow off the knees of his trousers. “Would you like help carrying them?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” The woman gave him a kind smile and continued down the street.

Credence turned to grab Newt’s case. His heart stopped.

The case was gone.

Calm like the moments before a lighting strike filled him, then shattered. His power strained against his will. It had been a while since Credence had let his Obscurus loose, over a week, and in that time he’d done precious little magic other than accidentally break things. His magic was restless and waiting for an excuse.

But he was in the middle of a street full of wizards and witches. One slip and it was over. They’d know what he was. But he’d lost Newt’s case, somehow, so maybe there wasn’t any point in holding back—how could he face Newt again having failed so monumentally?

Less than a second had passed since Credence noticed the case was gone. A mean snicker rose from a nearby group of wizards.

“Looking for something, Squib?”

The word was a knife in Credence’s middle. Grindelwald had called him that, with the same disgust in his voice as this man. Rage boiled over everything, clouding his vision with darkness. He could kill the man, who was indeed holding Newt’s case with both hands, mocking him. Credence could kill him and his sneering friends and take the case back and they’d never catch him, he was too powerful, too fast—

Three laughing children ran between Credence and the wizard, and he reeled back from the edge of darkness that was his Obscurus. He couldn’t hurt people again. Even if this man was horrible, he didn’t deserve to die.

Credence stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Yes, thank you, that’s mine.”

“How’d you even get in here, Squib?” The man looked up and down the street. “Someone with a wand had to let you in.”

“I have a wand. I’m not a Squib.” Newt had told him to pretend to be a fully qualified wizard, after all.

“Really?” The man smirked at his friends. All of them seemed around Credence’s age, but everything about them spoke of money. “Prove it.”

With a flick of his wand, the wizard sent Newt’s case fifteen feet into the air. It hovered there, collecting bits of snow.

“Go on then,” the man chided.

Blood rushed in Credence’s ears and the world narrowed around him. He couldn’t get the case, maybe he should just admit to being useless so the man would return it to him. Leaving it up there wasn’t an option, he couldn’t risk its precious contents coming to harm.

“Please,” Credence said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Give it back. I—I’m a Squib, like you said.”

“Is that why you dress like a Muggle? Because you wish you'd been born one?” The man still didn’t lower the case.

“The case, please.” Credence stared at the gathering snow near the man’s feet. His face was hot with shame and tears stung the corners of his eyes. _Useless useless useless_.

“It can’t be that important, if it belongs to a Squib,” the man said, turning to walk away. Credence stared after him, then up at the case, which still floated peacefully out of reach.

He needed the case down, and _now_. His Obscurus surged inside him but didn’t come out. Magic did. It left Credence as easily as an exhalation and snapped whatever was holding the case in the air. The case fell and Credence caught it, too stunned to even feel the pain of impact.

His magic had done something—something simple, but still _something_. Credence knew this wasn’t the first time it had happened. When he’d been a child he’d done accidental magic a lot, and later, long after repressing his magic had brought the Obscurus into being, he’d been able to move objects if he was extremely agitated. But those times always came with so much more anger and pain than this—

Or maybe desperation was the common factor. In this moment he was angry, and ashamed, but those emotions were overshadowed by his panic about losing the case for good or harm coming to it.

Credence knew he must look foolish standing in the middle of the street clutching a suitcase to his chest, but he was too shocked to move for the moment.

The cruel wizard who had taunted him turned and saw he’d gotten the case down. Anger flashed over his handsome features, then something like interest.

Not wanting another altercation, Credence spun and ran back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

 

 

In the early evening Newt knocked on Credence’s door. Credence had spent the rest of the day hiding in his room, too afraid to even venture out for food. He’d gone into the case to take care of the animals, but his own stomach was painfully empty.

When Credence opened the door, Newt bounced inside, joy radiating from him like heat from a furnace. His smile was beautiful enough to distract Credence from his worry and shame.

“It went well,” Newt said. “They have to review the whole manuscript, of course, but they were interested in the parts I sent ahead. I think they actually take me seriously.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Credence asked, “You’re—” _amazing, wonderful, beautiful, kind, and generous and more than I deserve for a friend._ “—an expert.”

“Yes.” Newt said, grinning. “I suppose I am. How was your day? Didn’t get lost, I hope?”

“It was—” the truth trembled on his lips, threatening to spill over. “—interesting. I didn’t get lost.”

“Good, good.” Newt seemed distracted, and he was full of more energy than normal. Credence couldn’t blame him. Newt’s manuscript was very important, to the man himself, and to the world, from what Credence understood.

“I gave everyone dinner already,” Credence said, unable to look at Newt. “Was that alright?”

“Yes, of course. You know, the lie that you’re my new pupil might as well be true, if you’d like. We can negotiate a fair wage for you as my assistant and I’ll teach you everything I know. Only if you want.”

Credence was speechless. He stared at the floor and tried to imagine a future with Newt that went beyond just trying to cure his Obscurus.

“It was a silly idea, of course you don’t want to be stuck with me any longer than you have to—”

“I—I’d love to, Newt,” Credence said, forcing the words out when he realized Newt had gotten the wrong idea about his silence. “Everything in there,” Credence pointed to the case, “They’re all so beautiful and fascinating. I’d be honored to learn more with you.” _Forever, if I could_. If only things could continue as they were now, with this almost easy warmth between them.

An expression that made Credence think of the first warm day of summer spread across Newt’s face. “Excellent. I won’t let you down as a Magizoology teacher. I dare say I’ll be better at that than teaching you to use spells.”

What had happened earlier loomed in Credence’s heart, a shadow much smaller than the Obscurus but just as weighty, somehow.

“Newt, I—” Credence swallowed. “I accidentally did magic today.”

“Your Obscurus?” Newt’s voice was soft and subdued. Credence hated himself for taking away all Newt’s happiness so easily.

“No. It—it was something else.” Credence told him what happened, too afraid to look at him while he did. Even with that precaution, Credence could feel Newt growing angry. “I’m sorry,” he finished. “I was careless, I know how irreplaceable everyone inside it is—”

“I’m not angry with you, Credence. If anything, I’m thrilled. Your magic isn’t exclusive to the Obscurus. That’s great news.”

“But you _are_ angry?” Credence glanced up. Newt’s mouth was a hard line across his normally cheerful and curious face.

“At the man who attacked you—”

“He didn’t attack me, I’m fine—”

“He insulted you and stole your suitcase, Credence. People like that who think they’re better than everyone else because of their heritage or their skill in magic—” Newt shook his head. “It’s no wonder Grindelwald has so many supporters.”

The name brought silence falling around them for a while, until Credence’s stomach rumbled very audibly. Breakfast had been a long time ago.

“Your stomach read my mind,” Newt said. “But after dinner, we have lots of work to do.”

“Work?” Credence asked. He found he liked the idea of something to do with Magizoology.

“More or less. We’ll put off practicing magic today. You’ll need to rest up for tonight.”

“Tonight? Is there some nocturnal creature you need to study?”

“Not so much a creature as—well. There’s not a polite way of putting it.” Newt drew in a deep breath and gave Credence a sheepish smile. “We’re going to break into Ollivanders and find you a wand.”

Credence waited for Newt’s laugh or the sparkle in his eyes that signified a joke.

It never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't be sure, but I feel like most of the shops in Diagon Alley have been there for hundreds of years, passed down through families. I'm getting into shaky territory when it comes to canon, so I'm sorry for any inconsistencies!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for reading/commenting/bookmarking/leaving kudos! I wish you all clear complexions and happiness for life!

If Newt hadn’t been so caught up in his own euphoria about how well his meeting went, he might have noticed something was off about Credence sooner. But Credence was so often sullen and silent, it was hard to tell what was the usual standoffishness due to his dislike of Newt and what was because of something else. He’d have to be more mindful in the future. Encounters with wizards like the one Credence had a run in with earlier might occur again. Too many witches and wizards were as mean as they were obsessed with their blood statuses.

Though he’d been through a lot that day, Credence still seemed up to visiting Ollivanders later. When Newt had first told him the plan, Credence had stared at him for a while, like he was trying to figure out if Newt were insane or not. Credence must have settled on the side of trusting Newt, or he simply wanted a wand enough to risk it. Newt had intended to keep a low profile while in London, but this couldn’t be avoided.

“Why can’t I just buy a wand?” Credence asked. “Are they too expensive?”

“No, not really. I intend to leave gold on the counter with a note. But,” Newt hesitated, then sat beside Credence on the bed. They were back in his room, having eaten a quick dinner. “Walking into Ollivanders asking for a wand is too risky. We could lie and say you broke your wand and need a replacement, but they’d want to know what kind you had before and who made it, and they’d expect you to test the wands with spells a fully qualified wizard would know.”

“And no one waits until they’re my age to buy their first wand?”

“No. With the news of the Obscurial from America so fresh, there's no way Ollivander wouldn’t put it together.”

Credence stared at his pale hands, his thin, elegant fingers curling into fists. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

“Do I look like I’m afraid of a little trouble?” Newt asked. “If anything, you’re doing me a favor. I never get the chance for good old-fashioned burglary. Now I have an excuse.”

“Promise me if—” Credence turned away from Newt, staring at the wall. “If they catch us, run. Don’t get caught with me.”

Newt’s heart wrenched. “Funny, I was going to insist the same from you. For me, getting caught means a fine, maybe some jail time, but for you—”

“What about your book? Getting into trouble could stop it from being published.”

“Your life matters far more to me than any book, even one I wrote.”

Credence’s fists trembled. “I won’t leave you.”

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to do this without getting caught.”

At last Credence turned from facing the wall to look at Newt. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “Deal.”

Newt knew they were both lying to the other, but he hoped that they’d manage to get in and out with no problems.

Historically speaking, that would be an anomaly.

 

 

By two in the morning the snow had piled up several inches and was still falling. Diagon Alley was soft and silent, the shops closed until morning. Ollivanders was dark, but then it was never really a cheerful building, not even during the day.

“We’re leaving tracks,” Credence whispered. “Isn’t that bad? Can’t detectives use our shoe prints to find us?”

“Shoe prints?” Newt held in a laugh. “Can Muggles really do that sort of thing?”

“I don’t know. I saw it in a movie once.”

Newt waved his wand at their tracks. The snow shifted to a perfect blanket behind them. “Don’t worry about your shoes. That’s not the obstacle here.”

“What is?”

“Enchantments.” The locks would probably put up a fight, too. Newt had traveled the world and come across all manner of magic, but his specialty was still magical creatures, not breaking and entering.

Newt hurried across the street, into the shadow beside Ollivanders. Credence followed him, and Newt cleared their tracks away.

For the evening’s adventure Newt had left his case back at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t like doing that, but he trusted no one would break in and steal it. That would be a sharp bit of irony, though, if he himself were robbed while he was skulking about Ollivanders.

Newt pushed the thought form his mind. He had to focus. Magic radiated from the walls of the shop, a pressure against his skin. Newt closed his eyes and pressed a palm to the dark stone, feeling the layers and layers of protections warding against this very act. He had Pickett, so he could open the lock on the doors, but it would set off alarms unless Newt found the counters for the enchantments.

Credence stood near Newt, quiet and still, his only movement to look up and down the street to ensure it was still deserted. His presence both calmed Newt and made his pulse race, a strange contradiction. He was terrified of failing and getting them both arrested, but he was also afraid of simply making a fool of himself in front of Credence. How pathetic would he seem if he promised a chance at a wand and couldn’t even get Credence through the door?

Minutes passed. Newt whispered a few counterspells, but none of them had any effect. His unease grew to embarrassment.

“Is there anything I can do?” Credence asked, voice devoid of judgment.

“No, I’m just trying to work around the enchantments—”

“I could break them. Breaking is the only thing I’m good for.”

“That’s not true,” Newt said, louder than he meant. Careful to keep his voice down, he continued, “I can get the lock open, but there are spells that will sound an alarm. They’ll detect we don’t belong here.”

“Does it detect anything, or just people?”

“I—” Newt thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, but I can’t just send Pickett in there alone—”

“Not him. Me. I can slip under the door if I let the Obscurus out.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Not only was it reckless, it would hurt Credence. By all accounts an Obscurus tore its host apart piece by piece. Letting it loose would only hasten Credence’s death. Unless those rules didn’t apply to him for some reason, perhaps because of his unusual level of control. “I can handle this myself.”

“I know you can—I didn’t mean to second guess you, I just—I just want to be useful. Please.”

“But it hurts you—”

“It doesn’t hurt. Not always,” Credence amended. “Sometimes it’s almost peaceful, to be outside myself like that. To—to not have to be me.”

Newt glanced at the side door to Ollivanders, then at Credence himself. He looked determined and unafraid. And cold. They were wasting time just standing around out here. “Fine. But if you hit any resistance at all, pull back. There could be traps.”

“I’ll be careful,” Credence said. He closed his eyes and his outline began to blur. Then he melted into shadow and collapsed to the ground.

Newt stood perfectly still, trusting Credence not to harm him but not wanting to get in the way. The Obscurus snaked around his feet, flowing under the door until no shadow was left. A moment later the pressure of the protective enchantments eased from around the door, and Credence opened it from the inside. They’d only been designed to give protection from someone breaking in, not someone unlocking the door from the interior of the building.

Newt stepped over the threshold. Nothing happened. He grinned. “Excellent work, Credence.”

The hallway was dark, but Newt could still make out Credence’s pleased smile.

“What now?” Credence whispered.

“Now we head to the front room. This part will take a while.”

Ollivanders was as Newt remembered it: a large room stacked high with wands. Using the _lumos_ spell, Newt gave them enough light to search by.

“There are so many. How do I pick one?”

“It chooses you. So you’ll have to try several.”

“Okay.” Credence reached out and took a long, thin box off a shelf. He removed a plain looking wand.

“Go on, give it a flick,” Newt said, as encouragingly as he could in a whisper.

Credence did. Nothing happened.

“That’s normal. It takes everyone ages to find the right wand.” Newt took the box and placed it where they’d found it. He wanted to cause as little trouble as possible for Ollivander.

Two dozen failed attempts later, Newt began to fret. He knew they were alone, but the sensation of being watched had crept upon him, as if the building itself knew what they were up to.

“I talked to a woman today who knew you,” Credence said in a low voice as he selected another wand.

“Oh?” Newt was pleased to hear Credence was making acquaintances in Diagon Alley, though he was simultaneously hesitant about the idea. Credence might realize just how odd Newt was and decide against an apprenticeship as a Magizoologist.

“The woman in the robe shop—”

“Madam Malkin?”

“Yes. She said you were expelled from Hogwarts?”

Shame and embarrassment filled Newt, and he busied himself with staring at the stacks of wands on the wall. “Yes, well, I would have told you myself, but—”

“No, I should have asked. You spend so much time helping me, but I never give anything back.”

Newt glanced at Credence. “You don’t mind that I'm not technically a fully qualified wizard?”

“Why would that change anything?” Credence’s face was guarded, but his eyes were soft and warm. “I can’t believe anyone would expel you.”

“It was a misunderstanding. I warned you most people here think I’m odd. They don’t like me, but of course you of all people would understand that best—”

“But people hated me because of my mother. And maybe they could tell what I am, you know? They could tell I really am a freak—”

“I didn’t mean that,” Newt rubbed his eyes. “I meant you would understand why they all find me annoying and don't bother putting up with me.”

“Annoying? You aren’t—you’re amazing. At magic, I mean, and you’re a good person.” An emotion Newt couldn’t place laced Credence’s words.

“You don’t dislike me?” Newt asked, too stunned to remember to keep his voice down. Credence had stopped trying new wands. Now he just stared at his hands.

“Of course not. I—” Credence swallowed. “You said we were friends.”

“I said I hoped we would be. And I suppose we are.” Newt’s heart felt a thousand pounds lighter. Perhaps Credence’s aversion to touching and eye contact weren’t exclusive to Newt, just part of who Credence was.

“Yeah. We are.” Credence picked up another wand box.

“I wouldn’t bother with that,” said an unfamiliar voice from a dark corner.

Newt whirled on the man, wand raised to defend himself and Credence. A pale, thin wizard with piercing blue eyes stepped into the circle of light from Newt’s wand.

“You can lower that. I’m not here to have you arrested.” The man looked vaguely familiar, but Newt couldn’t place him.

“Who are you?”

“You don’t remember. But I remember that wand. I was only an apprentice when it chose you.”

Newt recalled the day when he’d come to Ollivanders as a child to buy his wand. There’d been a young man who hadn’t spoken. Of course, this was the son of the Ollivander who ran the shop at the time.

“Sorry,” Newt said. “It’s been so long.”

Ollivander’s attention drifted to Credence, who stood perfectly still. “I know you’re frightened, Obscurial, but I hope you don’t do anything rash.”

“How did you—?” Ollivander’s use of the word sent chills up Newt’s spine.

“Realize? I’m not a fool. I read the papers. And I can tell there’s something off about his magic. Anyone who's paying attention should be able to do the same. It’s wild, untamed by a wand.” Ollivander shrugged.

“Well, not to be rude or contrary, but why aren’t you turning us over to the authorities?”

“Because he’s unique, and he presents a unique challenge.” Ollivander moved closer to Credence in a way that reminded Newt of large predators. Newt had to tamp down the urge to put himself in between Ollivander and Credence. Ollivander raised a hand as if to touch Credence’s cheek, and Newt lost his patience.

“What do you want, then?” he snapped.

Ollivander lowered his hand, and Credence took a step back, fear plain on his lovely face. His expression reminded Newt of how he’d looked that first day on the ship—alone, uncertain.

“I want to help,” Ollivander said. A strange sort of greed shone in his eyes as he watched Credence. “No one has ever given an Obscurial a wand. None that I know of. They all die too young.”

Newt should have felt relief—this should have been perfect, Ollivander willing to help in secret. But the way Ollivander looked at Credence like a meal he was about to devour set Newt’s teeth on edge.

Credence looked to Newt, a question in his eyes: _do we trust him?_ Newt nodded.

“Thank you,” Credence said. “Which one—?”

“Oh, none of these wands will want you.” Ollivander’s voice was devoid of pity or kindness. “They’re all waiting for a fresh young mind or the hand of an experienced witch or wizard. None of them want a broken shell—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Ollivander,” Newt said, rage flaring in his chest, “there’s no need for that.”

“He knows I speak the truth.” Ollivander still stared at Credence, who wouldn’t meet his eye, or Newt’s, any longer. Newt had half a mind to knock Ollivander out and make a run for it, consequences be damned. He couldn’t stand the pain etched across Credence’s face, or the tears that gathered in his eyes.

“If you don’t have a wand for him, we’ll be going—”

“I don’t have one _yet_ ,” Ollivander amended. “But I can make one. You, Mr. Scamander, have something for the core?” Ollivander finally tore his too-pale eyes away from Credence to stare down Newt.

“Core?” Newt had a bit of unicorn tail-hair in his supplies, and some dragon heartstring, but they were potion quality, not wand quality. And surely Ollivander had his own stores of proper caliber. “What could I have—”

“A feather freely given from a thunderbird.” The greed was back in Ollivander’s eyes. “No wandmaker in Europe has ever gotten one. They’re even rare in America.”

“Because people like you steal thunderbirds and keep them as pets or kill them for parts—”

“Not wandmakers.” Ollivander held out his thin hand. In the dim light it seemed almost skeletal. “The feather?” He asked, as if Newt had already agreed.

Newt glanced at Credence, who was still standing terrified in the same spot. The feather had been a precious gift, but perhaps Newt was arrogant to think the gift had been to him. Maybe he’d been only a caretaker to it. And how could he deny Credence the chance at a wand made for him?

“Alright.” Newt pulled the feather out of his pocket. It brought a hint of desert sunlight into the dark room. “If you swear the wand will be Credence’s.”

“I can’t make the choice for a wand.” Ollivander took the feather with extreme care. That at least spoke well of him. “But I will bring it to you when it’s finished.”

“And payment?”

“None necessary. Though I would like you both to leave. Now.”

Newt didn’t need asking twice. He moved to Credence’s side, then they both hurried out of the front door and into the driving snow. Newt took Credence’s arm and Apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron’s doors. Once they were inside, Newt let out a breath.

“That went well.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Credence whispered as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. “It was too valuable to just give away.”

“Not giving it away. I believe the wand will be yours, Credence. The feather is just changing form.” Newt unlocked his room, relieved to see his case sitting on his bed where he’d left it. “It’s likely what Frank wanted all along.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Credence sank onto the edge of Newt’s bed, shoulders slumped. “What if Ollivander just adds it to his collection because it doesn’t want me?”

“You worry too much, Credence.”

“Someone has to worry about you,” Credence said before turning scarlet. “I mean—I didn’t mean you’re reckless or—”

Newt laughed. “You meant exactly that. You can be honest with me, you know. I’m not—” _going to hurt you like your mother, or use you like Grindelwald._ “—going to kick you out on the street.”

A long silence filled the space between them. “Thank you,” Credence said, his voice breaking.

Newt turned away to take off his overcoat and scarf, thinking it better to let Credence’s tears fall without an audience. “Of course.” He wanted to comfort Credence, but wasn’t sure how. He panicked and changed the subject. “Do—do you have Christmas plans?”

Newt could have kicked himself. Of course he didn’t have plans, most of his so-called family was dead, and on another continent besides.

“You celebrate Christmas?” Credence asked, surprise in his voice.

“Yes—oh, that’s right. For Muggles it’s religious.”

“Yeah. I never really liked it.”

“What about presents?” Newt asked, thinking this wasn’t a very happy subject to have landed on after all. Credence had been allowed so little joy in his life.

“We didn’t exchange gifts.”

“Oh.” A gulf seemed to stretch between them, one Newt wasn’t sure how to cross. He turned and smiled as brightly as he could manage. “Well, that will change soon, won’t it? Christmas is just round the corner.”

Agitated, Credence wiped tears from his eyes and stood. “I should—I’m tired. Goodnight.” He hurried out of the room before Newt could respond.

For a long while Newt stared at the spot on his bed where Credence had been sitting. Credence said he didn’t dislike Newt, but it was hard to believe him in moments like these. Newt could never find proper footing around Credence, and he always seemed to say precisely the wrong thing.

Though the day had been full of successes, Newt went to sleep with a hollow ache in his chest, as if everything in the world had gone wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I started this fic with the thought, "What if something good happened to Credence for once?" I really did mean for this fic to be mostly fluff, but I should have known better. What's life without a little conflict?
> 
> So: **content warning** for suicidal thoughts and manipulation. Tread carefully darlings  <3 Also, this chapter will be split POV.
> 
> Oh, and to the many people who noted how much of a creeper Ollivander is, yes, he is, and buckle up.

In his own room, Credence sank to the floor, his trembling arms wrapped around himself. He scrambled for the remnants of the walls he’d built against Newt’s kindness but could find nothing left of them, not even a foundation. The air grew too thin, Credence’s breath too quick. He was drowning on dry land, but pain and panic were what he deserved.

Newt had given away something irreplaceable, priceless, and he’d done it so _easily_. Credence could no longer believe Newt was only showing him kindness to get something in return, or even just to garner glory and fame. He wished he could still cling to the lie that what existed between them was false on both fronts. But Credence couldn’t. Newt cared about him genuinely, and Credence repaid that friendship with nothing—worse than nothing. Every glance he stole at Newt, every brush of their hands when Newt Apparated with him, every word of Newt’s that made Credence’s heart flutter was an abomination, a sin. Newt thought of Credence as a normal wizard who happened to be possessed by an Obscurus, but the truth was so much darker. He was broken in every way, just as Ollivander had said. No wand would ever choose him, and no person who knew the truth could ever stomach him as a friend. His Obscurus should have killed him years ago.

It still might. The only thing keeping Credence from accepting that fate, from chasing after it, was that it would mean everything Newt had sacrificed would be for nothing. Credence couldn’t even go to Newt and confess it all because the result would be the same. He’d have to keep lying.

Credence covered his mouth to stifle sobs. He’d learned a long time ago the importance of crying silently, though this time the only retribution would be Newt’s earnest concern. Credence couldn’t handle that right now. He couldn’t handle the bright, warm glow from the fireplace or the softness of Newt’s scarf around his neck or the longing in his chest, the need he’d lived with for long so but could never fill.

Stumbling to his feet, Credence wiped away his tears, then crept out of his room and down the hall. He couldn’t bear being here anymore, he had to get out. The night was still a swirling mass of snow and icy wind but the cold numbed his face and helped him breathe again. He hurried down the street, looking for a place no one would notice a little extra shadow.

Finally letting out his Obscurus after so long had been like a drug, and he needed that again. He needed his emotions to drift so far away he could hardly recognize them any longer. In New York he’d gone into the subways to change into the Obscurus when the strain of existence became too much. He knew London had a similar system, but he wasn’t sure where the nearest entrance was.

The Muggle part of London was just as deserted as Diagon Alley had been, the snow just as thick on the ground. Credence looked down alleys, but none of them seemed remote enough to hide him. If there were news of anything like an Obscurial—among the Muggles or wizards—the game would be up. Death for Credence and imprisonment for Newt. It should have been too high a price to risk, but Credence couldn’t help it. Every stray thought of Newt sent twin fires of shame and want burning through him. If only he could have a few moments of relief from it all he would be able to function again.

Credence rounded a corner and found himself on a narrow street. All the buildings looked like shops closed up for the night. He slipped into an alley between two of them and let his Obscurus take over, let it dissolve him away. He didn’t go anywhere, just hovered by the walls and allowed the torrent of his power to strip everything from him, even the passing of time.

Eventually the darkness began to whisper words of destruction and death. Credence reigned in the Obscurus, reforming into his physical body. As the shadows swirled under his skin and faded, he let out a shaky breath. The pain and his problems were still there, but they were bearable again.

He could manage his feelings for Newt, he could control them just as easily as he controlled his Obscurus. After all, no one knew of another witch or wizard who’d ever managed what Credence had as an Obscurial. How much harder could mastering his baser thoughts about Newt be?

The gusting wind that had soothed Credence now made him shiver. He thrust his hands into his pockets and headed out of the alley, thinking fond thoughts of his warm room and his bed.

“That’s quite a trick,” said a voice from the direction of the street.

Credence froze. The man stepped away from the wall, his features obscured by darkness. The nearby street light seemed to just miss illuminating him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Credence said. Should he simply keep walking? More sinister options occurred to him, but he’d promised Newt he wouldn’t kill anyone ever again. And Credence found he wanted to keep that promise for his own sake, too.

“Turning into darkness, then back again. Like magic.”

Credence wasn’t sure the use of the word was jest or not—this man could easily be a wizard or a Muggle. Either way, he’d seen. Fear spurred the power inside Credence, made his Obscurus restless.

“You must have had too much to drink, sir,” Credence said, trying to sound amused. “Goodnight.” He stepped forward, attempting to walk past the man, but he held out an arm to stop Credence.

“Haven’t been drinking, and I know what I saw.”

With a new angle, Credence could make out the man’s face. He had light hair and eyes and pallid skin.

Credence tried to turn away from him but found his feet wouldn’t move. “What—?”

“Don’t worry. I just want to have a conversation. But you have to be honest with me.” The man stepped closer, only inches from Credence now.

His Obscurus strained to be set free, but Credence resisted. This man was a wizard, and he was doing something to him with magic that kept him from moving, but if he wanted to hurt Credence, he could have done it without talking first.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s talk somewhere more hospitable.”

Credence found he could move again, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Running away would be the smart choice, but the man might just immobilize him again, or worse. What could be the harm in following him? Credence could let the Obscurus take over and flee or defend himself anywhere. Maybe this wizard would be as kind and understanding as Newt.

In the end the cold wind pushed him to action. He nodded at the man and said, “Alright.”

The man closed the distance between them and grabbed Credence. Apparating was a shock and came with no warning, unlike each time Newt did it. Even when Newt didn’t speak, he always held his arm out and waited for Credence’s response as permission to whisk them away. But the man simply pulled Credence into a room so warm it seemed another word entirely.

They stood in a house, one that could have been built anywhere. Credence hoped he left this meeting on good terms, otherwise he might have to let his Obscurus take him all the way back to London.

The room was spacious and well furnished. A fire roared in the large hearth, sending flickering light across the polished wood and pristine upholstery. The room lacked the comfortable feel of a home, and Credence realized there were no paintings or portraits on the walls. Through a large window he saw snow falling among dark trees.

Being outside a city always made Credence a little nervous. The silence of being alone was unsettling. Even though New York and London could be almost obnoxiously noisy, it was a comfort—he always knew he wasn’t completely alone.

In the well lit room Credence could finally see the man clearly. He was older than Credence, with unsettlingly blue eyes and a face that was handsome but held none of the kindness Newt’s did.

“Where are we?” Credence asked, trying to keep fear out of his voice. He was an Obscurial, not even a dozen wizards had managed to do him lasting harm. What could he have to fear from this man?

“Where we are doesn’t matter,” the man answered, “not terribly far from London, but not in Britain. I prefer not to linger there, too many memories.”

“Who are you?”

The man moved around the room with a gait that seemed almost familiar. He lit a few lamps with magic and summoned two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. Before he answered, the man held out a glass to Credence. Even from a foot away he could smell the drink was alcoholic, and a lot stronger than butterbeer.

Credence took the glass but didn’t bring it to his lips. “Who are you?” He asked again, watching the firelight turn the liquid in his glass from amber to gold and back again.

“I’m hurt you don’t recognize me, though I suppose I have no right to be.”

Credence tried to recall all the people he’d seen in the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, but couldn’t place the man. He’d seen so many other witches and wizards in the past days, hardly any of them stood out in his memory. “I’m sorry—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Credence,” the man said, turning Credence’s blood to ice. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

Panic brought his Obscurus to the surface, just beneath his skin. The drink in his hand rippled, both from raw power and his shaking fingers. He forced himself to look at the man, to truly see him.

“Mr. Graves?” Credence’s traitorous tongue asked, then he amended, “Grindelwald?”

Grindelwald’s smile was the same blend of kindness and warmth that it had always been, but now Credence could see how false it was. “I apologize for how I acted in New York. I was blinded by my own expectations. I should have recognized how astounding you are from the beginning.”

“I don’t care what you said—” a lie, but one he desperately wanted to be truth, “—why are you here? How? Newt said—”

“Newt?” Derision filled Grindelwald’s voice. “Don’t tell me you’re traveling with Scamander?”

“And if I am?” Credence stood up straight and met Grindelwald’s eye again.

“He’s dangerous, and he keeps dangerous company.” Grindelwald sipped his drink, then glanced at the glass in Credence’s hand. “Oh, that’s right.” With a wave of his wand, which looked different than the one he’d had in New York, he swapped the alcohol for a mug of hot cocoa. “Does that suit you better?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“It’s not poisoned. I’d never hurt you—”

“You already have.” Credence meant to let all the anger boiling inside him into the words, for them to be knives across Grindelwald’s skin. But he only sounded petulant, like a complaining child.

Grindelwald looked abashed, or pretended to. “I have. And I’m sorry. I’d like to make amends—”

“How can you?” Credence’s voice wavered, breaking as a tear rolled down his cheek. Accepting this man to be Grindelwald was difficult. He looked very little like Graves. But the more he spoke, the more he moved, the more he looked at Credence with that same mix of wonder and greed that Graves had at the end—Credence was beginning to believe who he was standing with, alone in a strange country. “Everything you ever did or said was a lie.”

“Not all of it. You’ve been listening to Scamander, he’s poisoned you against me—”

“No, he hasn’t. You don’t know him at all if you think—”

“I know people like him. They preach about kindness to Muggles then let them drive us into the shadows. Or have you forgotten your mother already?” Grindelwald took Credence’s free hand, touching the scars on his palm.

Part of Credence wanted to jerk his hand away, but another part relished the touch, which was just as gentle and warm as Graves’s. _It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real_ , he thought, then another voice: _it’s what you deserve, more than you deserve_. He jerked away from Grindelwald’s grip.

Though he wanted to throw the mug of cocoa on the ground hard enough to shatter it, Credence set it on an end table. “I didn’t forget. And I didn’t forget what you did. You used me and tossed me out when you were done.”

“I underestimated your value,” Grindelwald said, “I won’t make that mistake again. You’re priceless.”

“As a tool. A weapon.” The fire crackled, its flame a mesmerizing dance of light, an inversion of Credence’s Obscurus.

With a featherlight touch, Grindelwald brushed Credence’s cheek, wiping away tears. “Scamander is trying to use you, not me. He’s trying to change you to fit his idea of what a wizard should be. He doesn’t accept you for who you are.”

Closing his eyes, Credence fought his desire to lean into Grindelwald’s touch. “He does. He’s trying to help me—”

“You aren’t broken, Credence.” Grindelwald said his name like a prayer, soft and intimate. “You’re perfect the way you are.” He ran his thumb across Credence’s lower lip. “ _Exactly_ the way you are.”

Fear and disgust and desire rose inside him, tearing through his body like his Obscurus through a building. “I’m—” _broken broken an abomination_ “—I asked for his help, he never—”

“He doesn’t understand you. No one can, not like I do, Credence.” Grindelwald was too close. His breath, sweet and sharp from his drink, sent shivers racing through Credence. “He’ll never want you like you want him.”

Denial rose to Credence’s lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Grindelwald already knew the truth, he’d probably known it all along.

“Stand by my side,” Grindelwald whispered, mouth against Credence’s ear, “And no one will ever make you feel broken again. You can be truly free.” Grindelwald stepped away from him, the movement sudden. “Or you can run back to Scamander and beg for scraps until he realizes the Obscurus is part of you for good.”

Lost in the storm of his emotions, Credence stared at the mug of hot cocoa. Steam still rose from it, along with the alluring scent of chocolate. He picked it up and drank.

 

 

 

When Newt woke the next morning it was with a strange sense of purpose. Hope and dread still warred inside him, but he pushed them away and opened his case. Inside his shed, he sat down at his desk to write a few letters, refusing to think about the absence of his previous favorite quill pen.

With a normal owl feather quill, he began his first letter, threw it out after two lines, and began again, this time with more of an eye to discretion.

_Miss Tina Goldstein_ , he wrote, _I apologize for not writing sooner, but my adventures didn’t stop when I boarded the ship. You may recall the American man you introduced me to? He happened to be traveling on the same ship as me, and we struck up an acquaintance. He’s agreed to stay on as my assistant, a lucky turn of events for the both of us, I believe. You’ll be happy to know he’s doing well, though he has not quite recovered from the illness he suffered when you knew him. I believe the air in London to be doing him some good, however, and it’s my hope he makes a full recovery._

Newt’s pen hovered over his inkwell. His words would raise a thousand questions for Tina, but he couldn’t risk anything else in a letter that might be intercepted.

_I hope your sister is well_ , Newt continued, _and I hope you are, too. I’m also very interested to know the fate of a certain detainee that was taken into custody under your watch._

_If you have the time, could you check in on Mr. Kowalski for me? Perhaps if you’re too busy your dear sister might be convinced to do so in your place_.

Newt signed the letter, read it three times, hating that it sounded so impersonal, then sealed it in an envelope. He wanted to tear the seal back open and add how much he missed Tina, how much he wished he could be frank and open and how much he appreciated all she’d done for him. Then he might ask her advice on what to do, because he was at a loss with Credence, and if the thunderbird feather core wand didn’t work, he wasn’t sure anything could.

Instead he started a new letter, this one even more formal and circumspect than the last.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore_ , Newt wrote, _Please understand that I am not writing lightly, as I know your time to be precious and in high demand, and it’s the holiday season besides, which you should be allowed to enjoy without the pestering of students or former students. But I’ve reached the end of my knowledge and need your help, if you can give it. There is a subject or some delicacy that I would like to discuss with you in person. I would be forever indebted to you if you would meet me at the Leaky Cauldron to address the matter._

Newt signed his name and stared at the wording for longer than he had the first letter. Professor Dumbledore might very well ignore this, and he had every right to. Newt hadn’t seen him since he’d been expelled, and even in school Newt hadn’t been a shining star with the staff. Dumbledore had always been kind to him and had fought his expulsion, so perhaps he would be willing to help now.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Newt said to himself as he climbed out of his case. It was still early, but Newt decided to see if Credence wanted to visit the post office with him. Newt hadn’t explained owl post to him, yet, and was excited to see his reaction.

Only after he knocked on Credence’s door did Newt remember the way Credence had left the previous night. Moments passed with no answer. Credence didn’t want to see Newt, then.

Newt raised his hand to knock again but thought better of it. If Credence wanted space, he would have it. Last night in Ollivanders Credence must have told Newt what he wanted to hear instead of the truth. Newt resolved to ensure Credence knew that he didn’t have to pretend to enjoy Newt’s company. Their relationship could be entirely professional and cordial. Newt wouldn’t turn his back on Credence for petty reasons.

The streets of Diagon Alley were only sparsely occupied, the snow mostly untouched. Newt wished Credence were with him—a snowball fight would be a perfect addition to the morning sunshine and the crisp air. The post office was empty except for one sleepy looking witch behind the counter.

“Two letters, one international.” Newt handed the envelopes to her along with the money for postage. As the two owls left, a large one swooped in. It didn’t head for the usual spots on the wall, but landed in front of Newt.

“Honestly,” the witch said, trying to shoo the owl away, but it nipped at Newt’s hand until Newt took the letter off its leg. It was addressed to him. From Tina.

She'd gotten tired of waiting for a letter and written her own. Newt should have done the same days ago. Chuckling, Newt took the letter outside to read her words in the golden morning light.

_Newt_ , the letter read, _he’s escaped. They’re keeping it out of the papers, and I could lose my job if they find out I told you. But I can’t take the chance he might come after you. Please be safe._

Tina’s signature was a dotted with a tear drop.

The bright morning sun faded, the pedestrians starting their shopping drifted away like dreams.  Newt stared at the letter, not reading it again but simply trying to fathom some other meaning it could have. When all his optimism had been thoroughly destroyed, he turned the letter to ash with his wand and sprinted back to the Leaky Cauldron.

The letter had been dated only yesterday, but if it was enough time for an owl to cross the ocean, it was enough time for Grindelwald to as well.

Newt burst through the back doors of the Leaky Cauldron, not even bothering to return Tom’s greeting before he bounded up the stairs. This time he didn’t politely knock on Credence’s door, and he ignored the scandalized look another patron gave him as he pounded his fist against the wood.

“Credence?” Newt called past the dread filling up his lungs and throat.

There was no answer.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Newt said, but nothing happened.

Pickett poked his head out of Newt’s pocket, taking stock of the situation.

“Can you help? Credence might be in trouble.”

Pickett obliged Newt’s request by scurrying down his arm and making short work of the lock.

The room was empty, the bed still made from the previous morning. Nothing of Credence’s was in the room, not his coat or even his borrowed Hufflepuff scarf. There was no trace of him at all, as if he’d never even existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't get why wizards don't have magical texting, it would really solve so many problems.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading/commenting/leaving kudos everyone! I'm especially grateful for all the comments along the lines of "No" and "why??"
> 
> I'm not saying your pain sustains me, but i'm not _not_ saying that, either. (I'm suffering, too.)

Newt leaned against the door frame, forcing his thoughts to slow. There were a number of explanations for Credence’s absence that didn’t involve Grindelwald. He could be eating breakfast downstairs—no, Newt hadn’t seen him among the patrons. Perhaps he was in Newt’s case, wondering where Newt was. Yes, that was more than likely. Newt hurried to his room. The door was still locked, the case still secured with twine. He checked inside, just to be sure. Credence wasn't there.

Still, Newt reasoned, that didn't mean Grindelwald was involved at all. Perhaps Credence had grown tired of Newt, like most people did, and simply left. He’d be back when the wand was ready—

The small chest Newt had gotten to hold Credence’s wardrobe was still in the shed. Credence wouldn't strike out on his own without that. Maybe he’d just gone for a walk.

Dread weighed him down. Newt sat at his desk, unsure of what to do. He could go to the Ministry, tell them he knew Grindelwald to be at large again, but they might not believe him. And if they made inquiries, the information leak would certainly be traced to Tina. It was still possible he was overreacting and Credence was fine. There was no need to cause a panic and get Tina fired over nothing.

Newt climbed out of his case again and tied it back up. He headed out into Diagon Alley with it, searching every shop and side street for any sign of Credence. He asked every store owner if they’d seen an American wizard that morning. None of them had.

Hours passed and Newt exhausted all of Diagon Alley. He went into Muggle London, revisiting all the places he’d taken Credence, starting with the ones Credence had seemed to enjoy the most. He found no trace of him, but he also heard no news of anything like an Obscurus terrorizing people. That was a hopeful sign.

By evening Newt could no longer reason that Grindelwald wasn’t involved. Though he’d only known Credence for less than two weeks, he didn’t think Credence the type to leave without even saying goodbye. And he’d just agreed to stay on as Newt’s assistant. The visit to Ollivanders had shaken Credence, but would that alone be enough to make him flee Newt’s presence?

The Leaky Cauldron bustled with the evening crowd, and there was a definite air of Christmas cheer among the patrons. Newt wondered if this was what being a ghost was like, seeing life and happiness everywhere and being unable to join in.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Scamander,” said a voice that sent Newt back in time to hours spent in a classroom, trying to transfigure rodents into cutlery and back again.

Newt turned. Professor Dumbledore stood near the bar, a pleasant smile on his face. In robes the same color as his eyes and auburn hair loose around his shoulders, he looked precisely as Newt remembered.

“Professor? What are you doing here?” Newt asked.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “I got your owl this morning. I happened to be free. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes—” Newt had forgotten the letters he sent. Asking Dumbledore about Obscurials now seemed far less important than locating one. “I’m sorry, but something’s come up—”

“Perhaps you’ll have a drink with me just the same,” Dumbledore said, his voice light but his blue eyes piercing. “Since I came all this way.”

Blowing off Professor Dumbledore wasn’t something Newt was willing to do, even under duress as he was. “Alright. One drink, then I really must go.” Go where, he had no idea, but he couldn't stop searching. Someone in the wizarding community would have information on Grindelwald. Most of his contacts dealt with magical creatures, but maybe one of them knew someone who knew someone.

Newt was so distracted with his thoughts he didn’t notice Dumbledore order him a stiff drink. He only realized what it was when he sipped it and it nearly burned a hole in his throat.

Dumbledore chose a table in the corner, far away from the other patrons. Newt sat across from him, intending to ignore the glass in his hand. He’d need his wits about him to find Credence before something terrible happened.

“How have you been, Mr. Scamander?”

“Fantastic.” Newt scanned the room, hoping against better judgment to see Credence’s perpetually somber expression in the crowd.

“And your travels? I’d heard you were compiling a book on Magizoology?”

“Yes. I did.” Newt realized he was shaking his leg and stopped, but he couldn’t hold his attention on any one spot in the pub for long. How had Grindelwald found Credence again so quickly? Did he have spies in London? Did Credence hear Grindelwald was free and panic? No—Credence wouldn’t do that. If he were afraid, he’d ask Newt for help. But he might have chosen to seek Grindelwald out himself, to exact revenge or—No, Credence wouldn’t help Grindelwald. Never—

“Am I keeping you from something important?” Dumbledore asked, voice grave.

“Yes—No—sorry.” Newt made himself look at Dumbledore. “What do you know about Obscurials?” He’d have to discuss what Dumbledore came here for, otherwise the man would never leave.

Shock crossed Dumbledore’s features for a fleeting moment before he adopted a blank expression. “Some. Not more than you could find in a book, I’m afraid. I have no personal experience with the matter.”

“Not many people do,” Newt said. “There hasn’t been one in Europe in hundreds of years. Hypothetically speaking,” Newt leaned closer, lowering his voice. “If one were to come across an Obscurial, how would one go about curing him—them—before they died?”

“Cure?” Dumbledore frowned. “I’ve never heard of one being cured. They all die.”

“What if one didn’t, though? Perhaps if he had enough control over his power—?”

“I have a feeling we have stepped out of the realm of the hypothetical, Mr. Scamander.”

“What?” Newt leaned back, fiddling with his glass. “No, of course not.”

“I’d heard rumors of an Obscurial in America. I also believe that you have recently arrived from the same country.”

“Well, yes, but it’s a big place—”

“Big enough for thunderbirds to flourish. I also heard a strange rumor one was integral to solving an incident in New York City, though it’s far away from their native territory. I also heard of a few very angry wizards in Egypt who lost an illegally obtained thunderbird around the time you yourself were in Egypt.”

“Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“Not at all. I’m merely interested in Magizoology, and I believe you to be the leading expert in the field.”

Flattery shouldn’t have affected him at the time, he should have been too distraught over Credence’s absence, but Newt still sat up straighter as his heart filled with pride. “I am.”

“It would be entirely reasonable for a man in your line of work to encounter a thunderbird and wish to see it back in its rightful place. It’s also understandable that you might have come across some trouble in New York and helped to untangle it.” Dumbledore steepled his fingers and stared Newt down. “It’s also not out of the question that you might have met an Obscurial and tried to save him. But the rumors I heard suggested the Obscurial died before anyone got the chance.”

“He didn’t,” Newt said, then wished he could take it back. What was he doing, telling an old teacher a secret so dangerous?

“And it’s this child you wish to help?” Dumbledore sounded like he was at a funeral.

“He’s not a child.”

“How old? Thirteen, fourteen?”

“He’s in his twenties.”

Dumbledore sat back as if Newt had slapped him. “That’s not possible. Are you certain—?”

“I know an Obscurus when I see one, Professor. I met an Obscurial in Sudan. She was a child, and she died despite my attempts to help her. I don’t want to let the same thing happen again.”

“Is he here?” The interest that sparkled in Dumbledore’s eyes reminded Newt uncomfortably of Grindelwald, though Dumbledore’s expression lacked any avarice.

“He's…” Newt picked up his drink, deciding maybe strong liquor was perfectly appropriate after all. “I seem to have misplaced him.”

“Misplaced him?” Dumbledore’s voice reminded Newt of the time he’d stayed up all night nursing a Murtlap back to health instead of working on his transfiguration homework. “You _misplaced_ an adult Obscurial?”

“I know how it sounds,” Newt lowered his voice, “but he didn’t wander off on his own. This has to do with,” Newt checked that no one was listening nearby, “Grindelwald.”

There was nothing to indicate Dumbledore was troubled by the name but a stillness that crept over him. “Gellert Grindelwald was recently captured by forces in New York. He’s in MACUSA’s custody.”

“Not anymore, sir. I can’t tell you my source, but it’s trustworthy. He escaped yesterday, and this morning, Credence—the Obscurial—was gone.”

For a long moment Dumbledore surveyed Newt. “I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

Newt did.

 

Knockturn Alley was dingy and dark under the best circumstances, and in the bitter cold of night Newt found it exceptionally inhospitable. Though it wasn’t technically illegal just to be there, he still felt like he was committing several crimes, and being with his old transfiguration professor wasn’t helping. Dumbledore himself seemed perfectly at ease, but Newt supposed being one of the greatest wizards alive had that effect on a person.

“Thank you, sir,” Newt said as they walked past shops of dubious repute. “For keeping this between us.”

“I agree with your assessment that should the Ministry find out about Mr. Barebone, they might not take the right stance on his fate.” Dumbledore paused in front of a door. “If he is with Grindelwald, once we ensure his safety, we’ll have to alert the Ministry about Grindelwald’s presence in the country.”

“Of course.” Newt had no problems letting a team of Aurors handle Grindelwald, though he doubted any prison could hold the man. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to apprehend him yourself, though.”

Dumbledore had been raising his hand to knock, but paused. “You overestimate my abilities. I’d prefer we not engage Grindelwald directly. Innocent lives could be lost.” It seemed a delicate way to say Newt himself might be killed.

The likelihood of dying should have scared Newt, but he found his only worry was for Credence and the animals in his case. “If something happens to me, sir, could you look after Credence?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you think you have to ask.” Dumbledore knocked at last. A few seconds later, a slat in the door opened.

“Password?” a man asked.

Instead of speaking, Dumbledore raised his hand and showed the man something Newt couldn’t make out. The man narrowed his eyes at them.

“Who’s he?”

“A friend, one I vouch for.” Dumbledore slipped whatever he’d been holding back into his pocket.

“Alright, then.” The man opened the door to reveal a dimly lit hallway. “We’re just about to start.”

Newt followed Dumbledore into the building, thinking that he should have asked a few more questions about their errand here. Dumbledore had simply said they were going to make inquiries, but they walked into a room with a half dozen witches and wizards, all of whom stared at Newt’s Muggle clothing with disdain.

One of the wizards jumped to his feet. “You idiot—you let Albus Dumbledore in?”

“He had the sign—”

Dumbledore drew his wand in such a fluid motion it seemed to appear in his hand. He disarmed everyone in the room and handed their wands to Newt.

“He did indeed let me in,” Dumbledore said, voice pleasant. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for niceties. Where is Grindelwald?”

One of the witches laughed. “In prison. Why do you think we’re here? We’re planning—”

“Shut up,” a wizard said, “don’t tell him that!”

Five of the would-be schemers fell into arguing, but the sixth stood with his back straight. He had dark hair and eyes and a handsome face despite the scorn etched across it. He stared at Newt, a silent challenge, though he’d been disarmed.

Disregarding the others, Newt stepped towards the wizard. “Where is he?”

The wizard smiled. “Prison.” The mocking in his tone made Newt certain.

Dumbledore seemed to come to the same conclusion. He and Newt tied up the others but dragged that wizard outside with them.

“I knew I should never have agreed to meet with those fools,” he said, laughter in his voice despite the fact he had two wands pointed at him. “Thought it might be good for a laugh. They fancy themselves his trusted supporters.”

“But you know better,” Dumbledore said, using his wand to draw a cord from under the man’s robes. At the end a strange silver pendant swung, a symbol Newt hadn’t seen before—a triangle with a circle and line inside it. “Tell me where he is, Mr. Black. I prefer not to have to ask you again.”

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, _Professor_. Go on, kill me. It won’t change anything. I believe in the work he’s doing—”

Newt jabbed the tip of his wand into Black’s throat. “I don’t care to hear your nonsense.” Newt pulled a vial out of his pocket. He’d stowed it there earlier, thinking it might come in handy. He’d been keeping this bit of Veritaserum in his stores for ages and never had the occasion to use it. When the wizard saw the vial’s clear contents, real fear crossed his features.

“No—you can’t—” Black struggled, but Newt immobilized him.

Before uncorking the vial, Newt glanced at Dumbledore. He nodded to Newt.

“This just seems a little immoral,” Newt said, explaining his hesitance.

“Desperate times. Think of what’s to be lost.”

That was the very thing Newt had been trying to avoid thinking of. The idea that Credence might never come back, or that he might be hurt or killed, chilled Newt from the inside out. It was unthinkable that Newt would make his usual rounds in his case without Credence’s quiet but steady presence beside him, asking him questions in his soft voice and seeing wonder in the most ordinary things.

Hesitation gone, Newt poured a few drops of the potion down Black’s throat. The effect was nearly immediate.

“Where is Grindelwald?” Newt asked.

“I don’t know.” A tear rolled down Black’s cheek. He seemed younger somehow, more vulnerable. Newt reminded himself this man wanted to see Muggles made into slaves.

“How did you know he’d escaped?” Dumbledore sounded far calmer than Newt.

“He sent us a message.”

“Is he in the country? In London?” Newt forced himself not to shout.

“Maybe. I told him about the man I saw who fit the description of someone he told us to watch for.”

“What man?” Newt had the feeling he already knew.

“An American, dark hair, early twenties, no wand. I didn’t realize who he was until he broke my hovering charm. There was something off about him—”

Sparks shot out of the tip of Newt’s wand, which was still pressed into Black’s throat. He didn’t feel a bit sorry for that. This was the wizard who’d tormented Credence his first day in Diagon Alley. “You told him where to find my—assistant?”

“Of course. Grindelwald said he’s important.”

“In what way?” Dumbledore asked.

“I don’t know the details, only that something will happen in Paris.” Tears dripped from Black’s chin. “Please, don’t make me tell more, I’ve already failed him—”

“If you’re afraid of retribution, don’t be,” Dumbledore said. “You’ll be quite safe in Azkaban.”

“Not afraid of dying. I don’t want to disappoint him further.” The Veritaserum had loosened his tongue more than Newt expected. Black must have had little or no training in Occlumency. “He said I’m special, that I have promise—”

Dumbledore waved his wand, and Black passed out. Lack of consciousness was probably a mercy to him.

“We have all we’re going to get from him,” Dumbledore said, lowering Black’s limp form to the ground. “But now we know a location.”

“It’s certainly a start.” Newt stared at Black’s prone form. Black had been desperate to please Grindelwald, but not out of fear. By all accounts Grindelwald was charismatic and manipulative, perhaps even enough to sway Credence to his side. Dread churned Newt’s stomach. Credence was in more danger than he’d realized. “Shall we go now?”

“Yes. I’ll just send a message to the Ministry so Aurors can take these people into custody.” A large white shape emerged from the tip of Dumbledore’s wand. A phoenix Patronus, stunning against the dark night. “Ready?”

Newt thought of his case back in the Leaky Cauldron. He’d have to leave it behind. “Yes.”

Dumbledore took Newt’s arm and they Disapparated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone hoping for a speedy resolution in which Newt and Credence are happily reunited and fall into each other's arms--I am a sucker for slow burn and suffering both.
> 
> Thank you again, everyone, for everything. Your sweet comments keep me going through horrible days at my retail job. <3
> 
> Also, **minor content warning** for hot cocoa spiked with a mild sleeping potion.

By the time Credence finished his hot cocoa, all the events of the day began to weigh him down, tugging him into sleep. For the first time in over a week he was afraid to close his eyes, both because of the nightmares that waited for him and because of the one he was living in right now.

“I want to go home,” Credence said.

“You don’t have a home. But you could.” Grindelwald took the mug out of Credence’s hands, then vanished it. Magic could do so many wonderful things. If only Credence himself could disappear into nothing.

_Take me back to London_ , Credence tried to say, but the words got lost in his throat. He was so tired. Standing became too much of a chore, but Grindelwald caught Credence before he fell to the ground.

“You don’t belong hidden away in that suitcase with the rest of Scamander’s beasts,” Grindelwald said as he lowered Credence onto a couch. “You’re not a shameful secret to be kept.”

“I am,” Credence said, finding the strength for it.

“Shh. You’ll feel better when you wake.” Grindelwald’s voice was all the lullaby Credence needed. He sank into a darkness without dreams.

 

Credence stirred from slumber. He was under a heavy blanket but still in his clothes—he must have fallen asleep inside the suitcase again. Today he’d convince Newt to stop wasting money on a second room—

Opening his eyes, Credence didn’t see the false sky of one of the habitats. He was in a house—

He sat up, gasping as memories returned. _Grindelwald_. Credence threw the blanket aside and stood. He had to get out of here, to find his way back to London—

“Good morning,” Grindelwald said, walking into the room. “Or, good afternoon.”

Credence froze, afraid to look at Grindelwald. The memory of his touch burned through Credence.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” An automatic answer. “I—” _want to leave_. Fear kept the words out of Credence's mouth. Grindelwald might not react well to them.

“I know you’re not comfortable here, Credence,” Grindelwald said. “You don’t have to pretend. I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you, and I meant it. You can be honest.”

His statement reminded Credence of Newt’s. _Newt_ —what time was it? Credence glanced out the window. Warm afternoon sunlight turned the snow into a blanket of shimmering white. He’d been gone most of the day. Newt would be worried—

“Please take me back to London.” Credence stared at the plush carpet. A gentle touch lifted his chin up so he was forced to meet Grindelwald’s eye.

“I will, I promise. But first I’d like you to meet some of my friends. Give me the chance to explain everything. If you still want to leave when I’m done, I’ll Apparate you myself.”

Credence wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that when Grindelwald was done with whatever sales pitch he’d prepared, he’d let Credence walk away. But Credence couldn’t. He’d have to escape by force, and he might as well start now—

“You must be hungry.” Grindelwald’s hand fell away from Credence’s face. “I’ll have the house-elf bring you something. I’ll be back in about an hour, then you can meet my friends.”

Grindelwald Disapparated. Credence stumbled back, surprised. Had he really left him alone, or was this some kind of trick? Perhaps the house-elf was here to guard him.

Credence expected something large and physically imposing, but the house-elf turned out to be a small humanoid creature that entered carrying a tray laden with food.

“Here you are, sir,” the house-elf said, placing the tray on the coffee table. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, thank you.” The food smelled amazing, and Credence’s stomach rumbled.

“Alright, sir. If you change your mind, just ring,” he pointed to a small silver bell that sat near one of the dishes.

“Thank you.” Credence said, but the house-elf had already disappeared.

For a long moment Credence stood in the middle of the room, halfway between the food and the large window. He could run, fly until he saw a familiar landmark. England would be west across the water, he knew that much. And he could always stop and ask a Muggle for directions. If he left now, he could be in London by nightfall.

But people might notice a dark shadow flying through the air. And if it was a trap, or a test Grindelwald had set up, he might end up in worse shape than if he simply stayed. And even if it wasn’t a trap, Grindelwald would chase after him and bring him back if he wanted Credence badly enough. And this time he might hurt Newt, or worse. Grindelwald hated him, that was plain on his face every time Credence mentioned Newt. Grindelwald might be happy for a chance to kill him.

But if he stayed, if he heard Grindelwald out about his plan, he had a chance of leaving without repercussions.

Logically, staying was the best option. Credence didn’t think about how hungry he was and how delicious the food looked, or about how his stomach flipped almost pleasantly every time Grindelwald said his name. His decision was completely based on the highest chance for success. In a few hours he’d be back in London and apologizing for worrying Newt.

And Grindelwald—he would hopefully keep his word and leave Credence alone. Credence could tell whatever police the wizards had that Grindelwald was here and they could recapture him and stop whatever he was trying to do.

With his resolve firmly set on a plan of action, Credence sat and ate the food. Every bite was amazing. When he was done, he ventured out into the rest of the house. Grindelwald hadn’t told him not to.

The house was large and well maintained, the opulent decor and furnishings free of dust. But it didn’t have a lived-in feel.

Credence had only just discovered a small library when Grindelwald spoke behind him.

“I’m glad to see you’re still here.”

Credence stared at the title of a book. He didn’t know what language it was in. “You promised if I heard you out, I could make the choice to go or stay.”

“And I meant it.”

Credence didn’t respond. He wondered if he could recognize the language on the binding it might tell him what country he was in. If only he weren’t so _stupid_ —

“This place is lovely, isn’t it?” Grindelwald said, running his hand along the spines of a few volumes. “It’s the family home of one of my friends. You’ll meet her, soon. I think you’ll like her.”

Staring at the same book title, Credence wondered if he should just attack Grindelwald now and kill him. He’d promised Newt—and himself—that he wouldn’t hurt anyone again, but surely this would be an acceptable deviation.

But more than just a promise kept Credence from sinking into his Obscurus. He didn’t hurt Grindelwald now for the same reason he hadn’t hurt Graves in New York—a lingering attachment. Though he knew all of it was false, his heart still longed for the quiet moments he’d shared with Graves. Knowing it was a foolish wish didn’t stop Credence from wanting it.

_Stupid stupid stupid_ —

Grindelwald placed his hand on Credence’s shoulder. “Come. They’ll be arriving soon.”

Credence followed Grindelwald outside into a garden draped in snow. At its center, amid statues of creatures Credence no longer knew were real or not, Grindelwald cleared away drifts and lit a large blue fire that hovered above the ground. Some of the chill Credence had been carrying with him since waking faded in the glow of the flame.

Seconds later, witches and wizards began appearing around the fire, some arriving silently, others with small pops. They wore an assortment of clothing styles, some with heavy fur lining and others silk, but all of them were robes. Credence began to feel out of place in his Muggle clothes. He expected the newcomers to look at him with the same scorn as the man in Diagon Alley, but they only watched him with silent interest.

When seven people had arrived, Grindelwald smiled and spoke. “Welcome back, friends. And thank you, Leta, for the use of this wonderful estate.”

One of the witches nodded, her cheeks flushed with cold or pleasure, Credence wasn’t sure. Her face looked familiar, though Credence had no idea why. Had she been in Diagon Alley yesterday?

“I understand the risk you’re all taking by meeting me so soon after my _daring_ escape,” the gathered people chuckled, “but it’s for a very crucial reason.” Grindelwald moved to stand beside Credence, draping his arm around Credence’s shoulders.

“A Muggle-born?” Leta said. “A new recruit?”

“Muggle-born?” Credence asked, keeping his voice low.

“It means a witch or wizard whose parents were Muggles.”

“I’m not—my mother was a witch.” At least she was if Mary Lou Barebone was to be believed.

“Yet you ended up adopted by a Muggle of the worst kind.” Sorrow filled Grindelwald’s eyes. He turned to his friends. “She forced him to repress his own nature, made his magic into a weapon.”

Leta realized what he meant first. “That’s impossible, he’s too old to be an Obscurial.”

“Show them, Credence,” Grindelwald said, voice a gentle caress. “Show them what the Statute of Secrecy has done to you.”

Credence wasn’t sure what the Statute of Secrecy was, but everyone else seemed to know, so he didn’t ask.

Grindelwald wanted him to turn into the Obscurus, like it was a party trick. But he supposed these people would need proof of what he was. Should he go along with it? If he didn’t, Grindelwald would get angry.

Fear of Grindelwald’s retribution made it easy for the Obscurus to take over. Credence disappeared into it, letting his emotion fade away. After the tumultuous evening and afternoon he’d had in Grindelwald’s presence, he was glad for the escape.

The reaction among Grindelwald’s friends was immediate and a little melodramatic, though as an Obscurus Credence couldn’t fully understand emotional reactions of other people—a trait that made it easy to kill, because screams of fear and pain were no more meaningful to an Obscurus than wind through branches. Credence waited for their shock to subside. He didn’t want to be human while they gawked at him.

After a minute or so, he shifted back into his body. Wonder graced everyone’s expressions, even Grindelwald’s. For the first time Credence didn’t feel shame and self-loathing that he was an Obscurial. He almost felt _pride_ —

Credence flinched away from the emotion. His Obscurus was a manifestation of his pain and rage, not something to be admired. He had to remember that, he had to remember that Newt was out there, probably searching all over London for him—

A burly wizard in a heavy fur cloak stepped up to Credence. “Magnificent. You truly are an Obscurial who’s mastered control.” His thick Russian accent made his words a little hard to understand. He turned and said something to Grindelwald in Russian.

“Albus Dumbledore and his pawns tried to _fix_ Credence here,” Grindelwald said, voice carrying over the snow. “Which would have killed him—”

“What?” Credence stared at Grindelwald. He had to be lying. He couldn’t know what banishing Credence’s Obscurus would do, no one knew. At least, that was what Newt said—

“Scamander never mentioned the fate of the other Obscurial he tried to _cure_?” Grindelwald’s voice sneered over the word.

“She died, he couldn't save her in time—”

“He ripped the Obscurus from her. He killed her rather than let her live as something other than a perfect little witch.”

“That—that’s not true.” More lies, they had to be. Newt would never kill anyone, much less a child—

But he’d been a soldier, he said himself he’d killed, and even bringing up the Sudanese Obscurial made Newt distant with grief and regret—regret for failing, or for ending the girl’s life?

“Our magic,” Grindelwald said, placing his hand over Credence’s heart, “is our life force. We can’t survive without it. Scamander and Dumbledore would rather you die than be something that exists outside their control.”

Credence didn’t know who this Dumbledore was. Newt had never even mentioned him. Why would Newt be his pawn?

Had Newt been taking orders from Dumbledore the whole time, pretending to care about Credence to gain his trust—?

But the thunderbird feather, that alone proved how much Newt sincerely wanted to help—

Unless the feather was worthless to Newt outside a wand. After all, he’d been using the feather as a pen. It couldn’t have been that special to him. And Ollivander himself said the wand might not even be for Credence. Newt could take it for himself, or this Dumbledore, if the wand was worth something.

_No no no_ , Credence thought, _Newt wouldn’t, he’s kind and generous—_

But hadn’t Graves seemed the same? Hadn’t Credence himself fought against trusting Newt because gentle smiles and warm gestures of affection were meaningless?

In truth Credence couldn't trust anyone, not Grindelwald, not Newt. He barely trusted himself.

“Why do you want me here?” Credence asked, voice shaking, body trembling with effort to keep his Obscurus at bay. It called to him, begging him to let it strip his emotions away and make him empty. As much as he wanted that, he didn’t want to scare anyone into attacking him.

The question seemed to surprise and puzzle Grindelwald. “Because you’re one of us,” he said, “because we want to make sure no other witch or wizard has to bear the same abuse you suffered from Muggles.” Grindelwald took both Credence’s hands in his. “And because you’re a miracle. We want to help you.”

_Miracle_. Newt had agreed with Grindelwald on that subject the first night on the ship. Back then the sentiment had moved Credence to tears. Now he wondered if _miracle_ meant _tool,_ both to these people and Newt alike.

“Help me how?”

“By giving you everything you need. A purpose, a family—a real family, not that travesty you had before—and a home.”

“And what do you want for all that?” Everything had a price, especially with Grindelwald.

“Only for you to stand with us, fight with us for our freedom.”

_Be our weapon_ , Grindelwald meant. He wasn’t making any particular effort to avoid being transparent. Perhaps that was Grindelwald’s own brand of honesty, or as close as he could get.

“I’m not a soldier.” Credence didn’t want to be one. He wanted—he wanted all of this to be over. He wanted to be certain one way or another about Newt’s motivations. He wanted the constant ache in his chest to end, he wanted more than just the few moments before and after sleep—when he drifted without a sense of himself—that came without pain.

Most of all he wanted to be someone else entirely, or to have never been anyone in the first place. But since neither of those things were possible, and because he didn’t want to die, not yet, not without a least one piece of truth to cling to, he’d have to keep muddling through.

“Look around,” Grindelwald said, gesturing to his friends. “None of us are soldiers. We’re revolutionaries. And one day, when we’ve toppled the corrupt systems that keep us in chains, you’ll be a king.”

_A king_ , Credence thought, _like there can be more than one_. Credence didn’t know much about monarchies, but in chess the king was the weakest piece, useful only as a symbol and even more restricted than a pawn.

“Will you join us?” the woman, Leta, said, with a radiant smile on her beautiful and almost-familiar face.

“I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Grindelwald said. “But if you stay while we discuss details, you’ll have to remain here as a guest until the plan has been accomplished. I can’t let you tell anyone and ruin the surprise.”

“But you would take me back to London, right now?” Credence asked. “If I wanted?”

“Yes, of course.” Grindelwald took Credence’s hand, brushing his thumb over Credence’s palm. “Do you want to go?”

“I—” Either Newt was lying, or Grindelwald, or both. If he left now he’d be no closer to the truth. And if he stayed and learned what sort of evil these people plotted, he might be able to step in and stop them all before anyone got hurt. If Newt had been sincere in wanting to help Credence, would he want him to leave now, or gather important information? “I’ll stay.”

Tension left Grindelwald. His smile filled Credence with warmth and dread at the same time. “Good. I know you’ve made the right decision.”

Credence stared at the ground and nodded. He hadn’t made a decision at all, not really. Even the excuse of acting as a spy was flimsy. He was at war with himself with no end in sight.

A gust of icy wind ruffled Credence’s hair. He tugged his scarf higher under his chin. But it wasn’t Credence’s scarf at all, it was Newt’s. Credence had nothing of his own that hadn’t been given to him.

As Grindelwald began to lay out the stages of their plan, Credence felt someone watching him. He glanced up to see Leta, but she wasn’t looking at Credence’s face. Her eyes were locked on the Hufflepuff scarf around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow build up of this story, but I can't just rush into things, that would be way too easy on me and the characters.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a new tag up there, "minor character death," so in light of that:
> 
> 1\. Thank you all for reading! You're amazing!  
> 2\. Sorry.

Paris was a charming city no matter the time of year, but now, with snow covering the streets and Christmas lights twinkling and cheerful shoppers out in droves, Newt found it utterly romantic. He wished he were sharing the experience with someone a little less imposing than his old transfiguration professor. Newt had hoped to show Paris to Credence one day. Now he longed for it even more. This city was exactly the sort of commonplace magic that thrilled Credence.

Newt didn’t like the thought of Grindelwald sullying a whole city for him. For the both of them.

“Hard to imagine a limit to the trouble Grindelwald could cause here,” Dumbledore said as they walked past a group of laughing children. “Especially with an Obscurial under his sway.”

“Credence wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Newt said. “Not unless he was forced to.” Newt had no idea if something like the Imperius Curse would work on an Obscurial, but he wasn’t eager to find out.

“We have to proceed under the assumption that Grindelwald wouldn’t abduct such a dangerous person without a means of controlling him.”

Dumbledore was correct, of course. Credence was capable of killing Grindelwald. Grindelwald wouldn't put himself at risk without a solid plan.

“Where should we start?” Newt asked. Before Dumbledore got the chance to answer, a bright glow filled the sky.

Newt turned, unsettled by the familiar flickering red of the light—

The Eiffel Tower wasn’t far away, its famous silhouette twinkling in the dark. A dragon was perched atop it, shooting flames into the sky. Though the fire made it hard to see, Newt recognized the dragon as a Norwegian Ridgeback. It was far afield from its natural habitat. Someone had brought it here deliberately. Dragons hated cities almost as much as cities hated having dragons in them.

The dragon was obviously frightened and lashing out because of it.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, standing beside Newt as they both watched the dragon breathe fire. “I was worried what he’d planned would be subtle.”

They looked at each other, then Disapparated.

Closer to the tower people were in a panic, screaming and running. Though as frightened as they were, all the Muggles seemed to avoid Dumbledore. Newt stuck close to him to keep from being trampled.

“You don’t seem frightened,” Dumbledore remarked as they approached the base of the tower.

Newt could understand why other people were terrified of a dragon suddenly appearing in the middle of Paris, but he himself only felt a little sad and very angry at whoever was responsible. “I’m not afraid of dragons. It’s people you have to watch out for. Dragons make sense, everything they do is predictable.” Newt glanced at Dumbledore. “And why aren’t you afraid?”

“Because I have an expert Magizoologist beside me, and I intend to take his advice on how to handle this.”

Newt watched the dragon. “She’s terrified, probably just woke up from enchanted sleep. Which is hard to do, by the way, knocking out a dragon.” Grindelwald would be more than capable of it.

“Any particular plan of action?” Dumbledore asked like they were sitting in a classroom, not beneath a rampaging monster.

“Calm her down, or if we can’t, try to drive her out of the city. This would be easier with more people—”

Wizards and witches began Apparating in around them, all of them wearing the same uniform. Aurors. Newt grinned. This was just what they needed to get the situation under control—

“Don’t move,” one of the Aurors shouted in French. “Hands up where we can see them. Try to cast a spell and I’ll blast you into next week.”

Above them, metal shrieked. The dragon was taking out some of her aggression on the landmark. Newt winced, but did as the Aurors said.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he said in passable French, “we’re here to help—”

“I know you,” another Auror said. “I saw your picture in a dispatch from MACUSA. You smuggled illegal creatures into the US—”

“No, I didn’t. Well, I mean, technically yes, but they never hurt anyone—” Except Jacob, but he got an adventure out of the deal.

“This is Newt Scamander?” The lead Auror said. “Alright, you’re under arrest for public endangerment, violating the Statute of Secrecy and—and for bringing a damn dragon into Paris!”

“I didn’t do this,” Newt said, wondering why everyone always assumed this sort of nonsense was his fault. “We just got here. We’re trying to help.”

“We?” The Auror looked around. “I only see you.”

Newt glanced to the spot where Dumbledore had been standing. He was gone.

Well, then. Newt closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath. He'd thought he and Dumbledore had been getting along so nicely.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from outside the circle of Aurors. “What seems to be the problem here? I assume you’d be more interested in the dragon.” Dumbledore gave the lead Auror a charming smile.

“This man released it—”

“I doubt that very much.”

“And who are you?”

“Albus Dumbledore.” A ripple ran through the Aurors at the name. He was famous even here. “And Mr. Scamander is a dragon expert I called upon to help with this little incident.”

“How did you hear about this before us?” the lead Auror asked.

“I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Quite a coincidence.”

“Not really.” Dumbledore shrugged. “There’s a fantastic little sweet shop around the corner that sells the most heavenly chocolate truffles—”

With a roar, the dragon took flight, her claws raking over the metal beams of the tower. Debris fell to the ground below with a thunderous crash.

“I believe we have more pressing issues than truffles,” Dumbledore said. “Will you let us help?”

Now the dragon was flying around the tower, bellowing flames. Most of the heat went into the sky, but she was in danger of setting buildings on fire.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, sir,” the lead Auror said, “we’ll have to keep this man in custody—”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Newt said in English, “you lot can arrest me later.” He Apparated away, landing near the top of the tower. Up close the damage looked ghastly. Huge rents marred the metal. Newt watched the dragon soar through the dark sky. He needed to get her to land somewhere safe.

Dumbledore appeared beside him. “Well, that was rather more eventful than I hoped.”

“I’m sure we’ll pay for it later, but I don’t care.” Newt frowned. The dragon’s flight was becoming more erratic, like something was hurting her. The French Aurors were shooting spells her way, but none of them should have been able to penetrate her hide. The spells should have been no more troublesome than flies.

Grindelwald had done something to her, then. As if trapping her in the middle of a city weren’t bad enough.

“This is going to be tricky,” Newt said. “I’ll have to try to get her to leave the city, land somewhere in the countryside—”

Aurors appeared around them. Newt wished they would just let him do his work instead of continuing to try to arrest him. Before the lead Auror could raise his wand, another group Apparated in. These people wore no uniforms and wasted no time in attacking.

Spells flew through the air in every direction. The aurors opened fire, too. Newt ducked a stun spell and started firing back.

The newcomers had to be Grindelwald’s forces, come to capitalize on the chaos and take out as many Aurors as they could—

Newt dodged a spell so narrowly it singed the ends of his hair. Nearby, Dumbledore was doing much better, but he was surrounded by Aurors. Newt Apparated to his side.

“We have to get out of here, this is just a distraction—” Newt began.

Across the tower, two people Apparated onto a mangled beam of metal. The dragon breathed another bout of flame and illuminated them—Grindelwald himself, his arms wrapped possessively around Credence.

Rage overcame Newt’s good sense as Credence stumbled away from Grindelwald, looking distraught. Around them, Aurors screamed in pain, and the dragon roared in torment. Grindelwald caused anguish wherever he went, and Newt had had quite enough of it.

“The dragon, Mr. Scamander,” Dumbledore said just as Newt was about to Apparate away. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Credence is here—” Dumbledore deflected a spell from Newt while hardly looking in the direction of the Auror it came from, “—make sure he’s alright, and if he goes incorporeal, please don’t hurt him—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dumbledore said, a calm sincerity in his voice that was at odds with the turmoil around them.

“Thank you,” Newt said, and forced himself to Apparate to the dragon’s back instead of to Credence’s side. Dumbledore was right—he had to save this dragon and the city first, then worry about Credence. And Dumbledore was more than capable of handling the situation at the tower.

The Norwegian Ridgeback was too caught up in her own pain to notice Newt land on her. Her flight pattern was still unpredictable, and she took a dive that nearly knocked Newt off. He held onto one of her spikes and tried to find the source of her problem.

When she lit up the sky again, Newt spotted it. Someone had driven large metal screws into the hide near her neck. Blood oozed from the wounds, which weren’t life-threatening but must have hurt a great deal.

Step one would be removing the screws, but they resisted the first few spells Newt tried on them. He reached forward to try to take one out with his hands, but the dragon veered left and he had to hold onto her spike again. After she settled into another straight line, he realized maybe he shouldn’t touch a strange magical object without gloves after all, and got a pair from his pocket.

Every few seconds his mind drifted back to Credence, but being distracted could very well get him killed. Still, he couldn’t focus fully on the task at hand without knowing at least something—

Newt looked over at the tower. Flashes of lights streaked across the structure. The Aurors and Grindelwald’s forces were in the full swing of battle, but Newt didn’t see the dark shadow of Credence’s Obscurus anywhere. That was good—unless it meant Credence had been hurt, or killed—

The dragon screeched as Newt yanked the first screw out of her hide. Blood gushed out of the wound. Newt fumbled in his pocket for a bottle of essence of dittany, but it had little effect on the gaping hole in her neck. He whispered as many healing spells as he knew, but the bleeding didn’t stop. He’d need to analyze the screw and anything that might be on it, but for that he needed his suitcase, and it wasn’t as if he had to time to do a proper analysis—

The dragon snapped her head around, nearly catching Newt in her teeth. He jumped back, then had to Apparate to a nearby building to avoid being roasted alive.

Without knowing what spells or substance Grindelwald had put on the screws, Newt might not be able to stop the bleeding. Newt had to warn Dumbledore not to kill Grindelwald. He had to be taken alive so they could interrogate him. Newt Apparated to the tower—

And landed right in the middle of a storm of spells. He ducked behind a beam and tried to spot Dumbledore. It only took a moment—no one else was quite so spectacular.

Dumbledore had been penned down by a dozen Aurors, but as Newt watched, he hit half of them with stun spells. Newt stepped out of cover to dash across the tower to join him—

But a wayward spell illuminated a pale, terrified face on the other side of the tower. Credence was there, alone and unprotected, where any stray curse could kill him—

“Credence!” Newt’s voice carried over the noise of the fight. Credence turned to him, expression going from afraid to relieved in an instant—

And Grindelwald appeared behind Credence, almost out of sight. His mouth moved and Newt didn’t have to be an expert lip reader to understand—they were two words every witch and wizard feared seeing uttered by an enemy—

Green light erupted from Grindelwald’s wand, heading straight for Newt, too fast to dodge—

The spell struck him in his chest, over his heart—

Death, then, but it was painful, more painful than Newt hoped it would be—

The force of the spell sent him spinning off the side of the tower—

Falling, falling, pain so sharp in his chest he could scarcely breathe—

But he was still breathing, and falling towards the ground, but Newt couldn’t find the wherewithal to Apparate—

And he was dead anyway, right?

Arms circled him, then pulled him from the air onto the street below—arms clad in light blue robes the color of Dumbledore’s eyes—

Newt stared up at Dumbledore, marveling both at the fact he could see at all and that Dumbledore had managed to catch him mid-fall and—

And—

Save him? From the killing curse?

Newt blinked, tried to speak—

Shock filled Dumbledore’s eyes, then confusion—

Dumbledore had been expecting to catch a corpse, probably to save Newt’s body the indignity of getting spattered all over half of Paris—

So Dumbledore didn’t save him, but Newt knew he’d seen the words formed on Grindelwald’s lips: _Avada Kedavra_ , and no other spell had that same sickly green color—

“How?” Newt asked. His chest throbbed with each breath, the sort of pain that left an ugly bruise for weeks.

“Did he miss?”

“No, it hit me—I—” Cold flooded Newt’s veins.

_No no no no—_

Newt lightly touched his breast pocket where he knew Pickett to be. Tears already clouding his vision because he was certain of what he was going to see, he pulled Pickett’s small, still form from his coat.

 _No no no no,_ he tried to say, but it came out as a sob.

“A bowtruckle?” Dumbledore asked, his voice a soft intrusion on Newt’s grief. “He was hit instead?”

“Yes.” Newt cradled Pickett in his hands, unsure of what to do with him. With his body. “It should have—should have been me—”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said, “but I thought bowtruckles were tree guardians—”

“They are, only he wouldn’t go back, I told him to go back to his tree, but—”

“He’d decided to guard something else.”

“He wasn’t _guarding_ me,” Newt said, “He trusted me to take care of him, and I—I got him killed—”

“Few wizards would cry over the death of a single bowtruckle, Mr. Scamander,” Dumbledore said, placing his hand over Newt’s as if to shield Newt from the sight of Pickett’s body. “Given the opportunity, I doubt he would have chosen to let you die when he could prevent it.”

Dumbledore was still holding Newt in his arms. Furious with himself, Newt struggled to stand. “He didn’t have a choice, Professor. It’s easy to assume he’d want it after the fact, but he didn’t get a choice. I was reckless—”

“And Grindelwald himself did the deed, not you.” Dumbledore stood as well. “I’m sorry,” he continued, voice gentle, “But we don’t have time to mourn. There’s still a dragon who needs your help.”

“Yes.” Newt didn’t bother to wipe his tears away, they would only be replaced with more. He tucked Pickett’s body into his pocket. He’d bury him under the bowtruckle tree later.

Newt looked up at the dragon, who still circled the Eiffel Tower in a wide, twisting arc. He ached all over, and not just from the spell that had killed Pickett. He was tired of losing friends. He wouldn’t let this dragon down, he’d get her out of Paris and on her way back home. And then he’d find Credence and save him. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason it took me so long to post this chapter was because I spent about 3 solid days trying to figure a way around killing Pickett, because I love him and he doesn't deserve to die and he deserves a better writer than me (which I hope he has in JKR, though she tends to kill characters off to, so.) But every other idea I had was pure deus ex machina or just ridiculous. I'm very sorry to have done it.
> 
> The bright side is, I spent so long waffling on this chapter that the draft of the next is completely finished, and I actually sat down and decided how many chapters total this will be.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for the last chapter, here's another!
> 
> I'm... not good at making amends.

Despite Credence’s doubts about Newt, he’d felt only relief and the usual fluttering ache in his chest when he’d seen Newt—

Then a flash of green light had knocked Newt off the side of the tower and all Credence’s joy turned to ash.

But Newt could Apparate, he could land safely—

The man in blue robes Disapparated, leaving the Aurors he’d been fighting to deal with more of Grindelwald’s friends.

“That was Dumbledore,” Grindelwald said, appearing at Credence’s elbow, “Gone to collect the body of his pawn—”

“Body?” Credence could hardly say the word, much less process the idea of Newt—

Newt dead—

“One of the Aurors decided to kill him. That spell is always lethal.” Grindelwald sounded regretful, though he hated Newt. “I’m sorry, I know you considered Scamander a friend—”

“He can’t be dead,” Credence said, his voice wavering as his Obscurus fought to take over. “He can’t be—he—” _he can’t die before I know the truth_.

Grindelwald turned from the fight to meet Credence’s eye. “I’m sorry, Credence,” he sounded like he meant it, “I saw the Auror’s spell hit him, too. He’s gone. No magic can bring him back.”

The world shuddered, blurred. Numbness filled Credence like bliss, and he fell apart into tendrils of darkness.

The Aurors had done this, they’d killed Newt. They’d just ended his life, like it was nothing.

They would pay.

He’d made a promise to Newt not to hurt anyone, but Newt was gone, and Credence couldn’t quite remember why he hadn’t wanted to kill anyone again.

The Aurors were easy to single out, and they were easy to kill. Credence moved through their ranks like wind off the ocean—steady, unceasing, ruthless. As he touched their bodies he burned the life from them, leaving only shells behind.

In less than a minute there were no uniformed Aurors left standing. Some of them had fled, but Credence couldn’t follow. He turned his attention to the streets still milling with panicked Muggles—

“Credence,” Grindelwald called from the tower, “that’s enough.”

Though he didn’t want to collapse back into his body, Credence knew he’d have to face it eventually. He reformed beside Grindelwald, and as his anger ebbed away, sorrow took its place.

Grindelwald wrapped his arms around Credence. “We’re leaving, going home now.” Around them Grindelwald’s friends Disapparated. “Will you come with us?”

“Yes.” Where else could he go? Newt was _gone_ —

Credence sobbed into Grindelwald’s shoulder, finding no relief even when Grindelwald pulled them back to the Lestrange estate. Not even the discomfort of Apparition was enough to distract him.

Newt was dead. Credence knelt on the plush rug in one of the nicer sitting rooms, not caring who saw. Newt was _gone gone gone_ and even if he had been a liar and false he’d still been kind and gentle and loving to his animals and Credence both, though Credence never deserved any of the kindness he received and—

And he had been beautiful, all of him, everything about him had been almost too beautiful to stand—

Alhough the people responsible were dead, too, Credence didn’t feel any better. Pain seared his chest like something had been ripped out of him, shortening his breath, drowning him—

Grindelwald knelt before him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It was a terrible thing to have to witness,” he said in a voice so soft with sorrow Credence looked up to be sure it was really Grindelwald talking. “I didn’t care for his politics, but still, he was one of us, and they killed him because he threatened their precious Statute of Secrecy.”

“I don’t—” Credence wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms, “I don’t even know what that is—” _stupid stupid stupid and too useless to save anyone all I’m good for is breaking and killing_ —

“It’s the law keeping us hidden from the Muggle world. But we shouldn’t have to hide.”

Credence shook his head. He didn’t care about Grindelwald’s propaganda now, he just wanted to be somewhere quiet and dark where he could grieve in peace—

The suitcase. Newt hadn’t been carrying it, which meant he’d left it in his room at the Leaky Cauldron. What would happen to it, and to the animals inside? If Tom found out Newt was dead, would he just toss the suitcase in storage? Would he even bother to look inside, and if he did, would he think of all the creatures inside as monsters to be disposed of?

“I need to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Please.”

Surprise flickered over Grindelwald’s face. “I thought you were with us?”

“I—I am—” he might as well be. He didn’t belong anywhere else. “But Newt had a suitcase and I can’t just leave them all to die—”

“That’s right,” Grindelwald said, a little disdain creeping into his voice, “Scamander’s collection. Does it really mean that much to you?”

“It does. _Please_.” Credence didn’t like begging, but only because in his experience it seldom made a difference. But this time, it seemed to work.

“Alright. We can go there now, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I am. Thank you.”

Grindelwald helped him stand and handed him a handkerchief to dry his eyes. When Credence had composed himself, Grindelwald Apparated them to London.

  


Barely ten minutes had passed since Newt’s death, and no news of the events in Paris had reached the Leaky Cauldron yet. Everyone inside was happy, and Christmas cheer abounded. Credence had been gone from here less than a day, but he felt like an entirely different person. Every shadow and dark corner called to him, to his Obscurus, but he stayed focused on the task at hand. Later he could change into the Obscurus and hide from his grief, but now he had dozens of lives to think about other than his own pathetic one.

“Do you have a key to his room?” Grindelwald asked, only it wasn’t Grindelwald standing beside Credence, now, but another man entirely.

As Credence flinched away from him, Grindelwald chuckled. He’d turned his hair and eyes dark and changed the shape of his face with magic, but it was still him under there, still the devious liar he’d always been. Credence was just glad Grindelwald hadn’t chosen Graves’s face again, though he’d done so because Graves’s picture would be in the papers, not as a courtesy to Credence.

“I don’t have a key—”

“Well, then, I can just make the bartender open the door—”

“No,” Credence didn’t want anyone innocent hurt, especially not on his account. “I’ll talk to him. He knows I’m—I was Newt’s assistant.”

“Alright, but if he refuses, we do it my way.”

Credence approached the bar, head down to avoid having to talk to any strangers. After a minute he managed to get Tom’s attention.

“Excuse me, but Mr. Scamander, my—uh—boss—wanted me to get something from his room, only he forgot to give me his key—”

“Don’t have another copy,” Tom said, eyeing Credence with distrust.

“But he’s left a very important, ah, animal in there that needs tending. You see if we don’t bottle feed the—”

“Alright. alright,” Tom waved his hand to get Credence to stop talking Magizoology at him. “Here’s the master key. Bring it right back, hear?”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” Credence hurried away from the bar. As he walked upstairs, Grindelwald joined him.

“Well done.”

“You just have to know how to annoy people the right way,” Credence said, thinking that Newt must have learned fairly quickly how much no one cared about magical creatures around here. The thought made his insides twist so sharply he had to wipe away more tears.

Inside Newt’s room was just as Credence remembered—untouched but for the suitcase sitting on the bed, still tied up with twine. It was a heavy responsibility, but one Credence had to bear. He wouldn’t let Newt’s work amount to nothing.

Credence grabbed the case and hurried out of the room. He returned the master key to Tom wordlessly, not meeting his eye so Tom wouldn’t see the tears gathering there.

Grindelwald didn’t comment, only followed Credence back outside and Disapparated with him.

The large, empty house was more comforting to Credence than the busy pub had been. Here he wasn’t surrounded by people whose lives were continuing as normal, here no one would gawk at him for shedding tears. In fact most of Grindelwald’s friends had gone, leaving only Leta Lestrange, Grindelwald, and Credence himself at the estate.

Credence walked through the empty halls in a daze. Grindelwald showed him to a large bedroom suite and told him it was his as long as he wanted. Credence nodded, said something in the way of a thank you, and drifted through the door.

It was larger than his room at the Leaky Cauldron, but Credence would have traded it to be in that small, cramped cabin on board the steamship with Newt again. He would trade anything for that—even his own life. If someone had to die, why hadn’t it been him instead of Newt? Why was he, a murderer, a monster, an abomination in every sense of the word, still alive when someone like Newt wasn’t?

And why had Newt been in Paris at all? Looking for Credence—it was the only answer. Credence had disappeared without a word and Newt had chased after him and gotten killed and it was all his fault.

Credence sank to the floor, cradling the suitcase in his arms. What was the good of all his magic if it was only able to destroy? He wished he’d done more to get rid of his Obscurus. Without it Grindelwald wouldn’t care about him, wouldn't want to use him—

But he had allowed himself to be used.

Sobs wracked his form, and he let them, just like he let everything else happen without bothering to fight—

Holding his Obscurus in became difficult. Credence wanted so badly to become nothing but pain and anger because at least that wasn’t this grief. He could let the Obscurus tear him apart, kill him at last—

But who would take care of Newt’s suitcase if he were gone? No one in this house, certainly. So instead of escaping into darkness, he set the case down on the floor and undid the twine, his fingers trembling so badly it took him several minutes to undo the knots.

When he was done, he tucked the twine into his pocket and opened the case.

Newt’s shed was as it always was—cluttered with odd tools and smelling of animal hide and feed. On Newt’s desk sat the typed copy of his manuscript, and two envelopes. One read “To Whom it may Concern (Not Credence)” and the other “To Credence.”

He opened the latter first, breath caught in his throat.

_Credence_ , the letter read, _if you’re reading this, I’m either missing, incapacitated in some way, or dead altogether. If I’m dead, I’m sorry I never got to properly train you as a Magizoologist. I suppose I’m going to die at some point, and it’s very likely to be tonight. Don’t worry about it. Like I always say, if you worry, you suffer twice. I’d never want you to suffer even once on my account._

Credence paused to wipe the tears from his eyes so he could continue reading.

_I could never expect you to take on the responsibility of caring for my beasts. If you will please take this case to Miss Tina Goldstein, of New York City, and give her the other letter along with my manuscript, she’ll see to the animals. You don't have to, of course, if you want to carry on being a Magizoologist, my book might help you along, and I’ve attached a list of names of people who can also be of service._

_If you choose to take care of everyone, know that I have the utmost faith and trust in you to do so._

_I’m sorry I didn’t protect you like I should have. You were my responsibility, and I failed you as a teacher and a friend. I should never have let Grindelwald get within a hundred miles of you, and now you might be paying the price for my mistakes._

_There’s so much more I had to teach you, and so much more I wish I could say, but Professor Dumbledore is getting impatient. He’s an old teacher of mine who I asked for help. He might have some insight into curing your Obscurus. Seek him out if you can._

The letter was simply signed “Newt.” Credence brushed his fingertips over the name. He reread the letter until he’d run out of tears to cry.

Credence folded the parchment back up and tucked it into his pocket. Then he opened the other letter. Newt had said it wasn’t for him, but he wouldn’t ever know the difference.

_To whom it may concern_ , the letter began, _if you’re reading this, I’m dead, and so is Albus Dumbledore, which probably means Gellert Grindelwald is responsible on both counts of murder. It also means a Mr. Credence Barebone, my Magizoology assistant, is still missing. Please do all you can to locate him and give him this suitcase and its contents._

_If Credence is also dead, please send this along to Miss Tina Goldstein of New York City. If you yourself happen to be Tina Goldstein, I’m very sorry to inconvenience you with this responsibility. And I’m sorry to break the promise that I would deliver my book to you in person._

_You will find in the manuscript beneath this letter all the instructions for caring for the animals outside this shed. None of them are dangerous if you follow the directions I’ve laid out for their care. Thank you._

His signature on this one was far more formal, his full name in an intricate scrawl. Credence tucked this letter into his pocket as well, then went to feed and check on all the animals.

Feeding wasn’t necessary. Newt had obviously been here before going to Paris. But all the animals seemed pleased to see Credence, and he spent time with each of them, whispering softly that Newt wouldn’t be returning.

When exhaustion blurred his vision more than his tears, Credence pulled blankets out of Newt’s chest, feeling like a thief, and made up Newt’s little camping bed. The blankets still smelled like Newt, and Credence allowed himself the luxury of curling up in them, as foolish as it was. He eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep.

When he woke, one of the first things he saw was a picture on Newt’s desk, one he’d seen dozens of times before but never thought much about. Only now he recognized the woman in the frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying this, but I swear this story has a happy, fluffy ending.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize again for writing such a dark story even though I set out to write something happy and fluffy. I promise the last few chapters are as bad as it gets!

Something the dragon had done had stopped the Muggle lights from working on the Eiffel Tower. Sirens wailed across the city, but so far no Muggle police had approached the structure. They were probably too busy gawking at the dragon. Newt couldn’t blame them. She was magnificent even under duress as she was, her sinuous red form twisting through the night.

“We have to capture Grindelwald,” Newt told Dumbledore. “He’s poisoned the dragon, or cursed her, I’m not sure which. We have to make him tell us how to stop her wounds bleeding.” Newt turned from the dragon to the tower. It was dark, without even spells flying through the air to light it up.

Something was wrong.

“Capturing him might not be necessary—”

“He saw me.” Newt cut Dumbledore off before he could be horrified by the prospect of interrupting a teacher.

“Who?”

“Credence. He saw me get hit with the killing curse. He’ll think I’m—” _dead, like I should be, instead of an innocent bowtruckle_.

“Is it possible he’s had an adverse reaction to the idea of your death?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t like me much, but I promised to help him.”

“Perhaps we should check in on the Aurors.”

At the top of the tower there was no movement. Darkness of the natural kind surrounded the torn and bent metal beams. Bodies lay strewn about like discarded toys, some of them draped over rafters.

“ _Lumos_.” Newt knelt by the nearest corpse. The dead Auror’s skin was covered in the telltale marks of an Obscurus. “Oh, Credence.” Newt’s heart sank, both for the dead Aurors and for Credence.

Dumbledore surveyed the damage Credence had wrought. “This is worse than I feared. With a weapon this powerful—”

“He’s not a weapon, Professor. He’s a person. And he wouldn’t—this isn’t him. When you meet him, when we free him from whatever spell Grindelwald is using—”

“Grindelwald doesn’t always need magic to control people.” Something in Dumbledore's voice, some strange familiarity, gave Newt pause.

“You sound as if you have personal experience.”

“I don’t. But I know his type.”

“How did you get into the meeting of his followers, back in Knockturn Alley?” Newt asked. In the distance the dragon shot a jet of flame hot enough to ignite the bare branches of some trees.

“Suffice it to say I’ve been following Grindelwald for a while. We haven’t the time to discuss specifics.”

“No, I suppose we don’t.” Newt intended to bring the matter up again, when they’d gotten the dragon to safety. Newt didn’t distrust Dumbledore, but he did feel there was something Dumbledore was hiding from him. He didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark. “There’s no one here to help us, so we’ll have to drive the dragon out of the city on our own.”

Once she was somewhere remote, they could contain her long enough for Newt to figure out what Grindelwald had done to her and how to stop it. Grindelwald was long gone from Paris, so there’d be no chance to interrogate him. And no chance to save Credence, for now.

Newt Apparated to the dragon’s back. The bleeding hadn’t slowed, and the motion of her wings had torn the gash wider. Three other screws remained in her flesh.

Dumbledore appeared beside Newt, looking just as at ease on the back of an enraged dragon as he did in a classroom. But when he saw the damage to her, his expression turned dark.

“Cursed metal,” he said summoning a pair of gloves with a wave of his wand. “Very few substances can heal wounds caused by it.”

“Well, unless you happen to have phoenix tears, this dragon is going to bleed out, and there’s nothing I can do about it—” Tears prickled his eyes again, which only made Newt more helplessly furious.

“As it happens,” Dumbledore said, pulling a vial out of a pocket of his robes, “I’ve been given some phoenix tears by a friend.”

“That’s some friend. Phoenix tears are hard to come by.” Not to mention very valuable.

“He cried them himself.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“You—you befriended a phoenix? How?”

Uncorking the vial, Dumbledore dropped a few tears onto the dragon’s wound. It began to knit together. “It’s a long story.”

“I intend to hear it just the same.” Despite everything, Newt felt a little jealous. He’d met a few phoenixes, but none had wanted to travel with him.

Together they removed the other three screws and healed the dragon’s cursed wounds. By the time they were done, Newt’s face was numb with cold and wind-chapped. He wished that his heart could grow numb to save him from the constant ache of Pickett’s death and Credence’s absence.

Free from pain, the dragon roared in triumph and shot higher into the sky. Newt nearly slipped off her back from the sudden upward motion. He laughed.

“She’s going home on her own,” Newt called to Dumbledore over the rush of wind.

“Then we should leave her to it before she takes us all the way to Norway.” Dumbledore held out his hand and Newt took it, letting Dumbledore Apparate them to solid ground.

  


Naturally, they landed in the middle of a group of Aurors. Dumbledore managed to explain things enough that the Aurors let them assist in clean up. By the time the tower was back in proper shape, a few reporters had shown up from all the magical European papers. Newt was surprised Muggle reporters weren’t also hanging about.

“Unless you want to give an interview,” Dumbledore said, “we should leave.”

“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I really do try to stay out of the papers. Shall we go back to London?” Now that Grindelwald had done his damage in Paris, they had no leads.

“Not just yet. There really is a shop nearby that sells these delightful Muggle chocolates.”

“Will these chocolates help me find Credence? Will they help us stop Grindelwald once and for all?” Newt asked as they walked down a deserted street that had so recently been full of cheerful pedestrians.

“No, but I find them to be beneficial in lifting one’s spirits.”

“After contact with a dementor, not—” Newt’s voice broke. Now that they weren’t in imminent danger of being burned alive by a dragon, Newt had precious little to distract him from his grief and worry.

“Dementors aren’t the only source of bad memories.” Dumbledore wrapped his arm around Newt’s shoulders.

The gesture was at the same time comforting and embarrassing—Newt wasn’t some homesick first-year in need of consoling. He shouldn’t have felt so lost.

The little sweet shop was still open despite the late hour and the incident with a dragon. The owners, an old couple wearing nearly matching pairs of thick glasses, hadn’t noticed a thing off about the evening. They knew Dumbledore by name and insisted he take several little boxes of truffles instead of the single one he’d asked for. Then the woman noticed Newt had been crying.

“He recently lost a dear friend,” Dumbledore explained.

After that, the Muggles insisted on making them tea. Newt was restless to resume the search for Grindelwald, but he wasn’t quite to the point of being rude to such kind strangers. The half hour they spent talking to the Muggles wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either.

Back out in the cold night, Dumbledore and Newt walked down the street without any rush. Newt endured it for a few minutes, but finally his patience ran out.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Not any particularly good ones, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore unwrapped a truffle and ate it.

“Perhaps we should go to the Ministry. They might have intelligence on Grindelwald’s whereabouts.”

“You don’t really mean that.” Dumbledore was right. Newt was no more willing to involve them now than he had been to begin with. They’d take one look at the bodies Credence had left behind and order him killed on sight.

“No. But going door to door across an entire continent won’t do the trick, either.” Having nothing else to occupy his hands or his thoughts, Newt tried one of the chocolates he’d gotten. They were as exceptional as Dumbledore had promised.

“You’ve told me about Mr. Barebone in the context of his being an Obscurial, but you haven’t told me what kind of person he is.”

“He’s—” Newt smiled a little, “he’s a gentle soul despite his circumstances. That’s why I know Grindelwald has to be forcing him to do this. He wouldn’t on his own.” Newt pulled his collar up higher, missing his Hufflepuff scarf but not sad that Credence still had it, wherever he was. Newt hoped it brought him some comfort. “He’s a fair Magizoologist already, and he’s good with all the creatures in my case. He isn’t prone to violence—he even thought wizard chess was too brutal to play.”

“You sound very fond of him.”

“I am. He’s my friend.”

“Even though he, as you say, doesn’t like you much?”

“Yes—no—I’m not sure, really. People are so hard to read. Especially him. He says he doesn’t hate me, but he’s distant.” Newt ate another truffle. “With the life he’s lived, I suppose it would make anyone a little wary about new friends.”

“I hope that his hesitance in trusting people would extend to Grindelwald, but Grindelwald has a gift for knowing exactly what people need and want and exploiting that.”

“You know him, don’t you?” Newt said, meeting Dumbledore’s eye.

Dumbledore turned away. “I knew him a long time ago.”

The admission startled Newt. He’d expected Dumbledore to lie again or keep hedging around the subject. “You can find him, then—”

“He wouldn’t be foolish enough to hide somewhere I would think to check.”

“But you have insight into what he might do next, and about why he’d bother releasing a dragon when he has an Obscurial under his sway.”

“I think the dragon was only to draw out the French forces. They were the target. He’s trying to destabilize governments to make it easier to seize control.”

“He’ll do something like this again. And when he does, we have to be there to stop him.”

“And we will. But not tonight.”

  


By the time they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, the place was abuzz with the news of Grindelwald’s attack on Paris. There were whispers of some dark magic he’d used, but no one said the word _Obscurus_ , which made Newt breathe easier.

All Newt wanted was to be out there searching, but Dumbledore insisted they sleep at some point. Newt would probably just tinker around in his shed for a while and say he’d slept—

Before Newt made it to the stairs, Tom waved him over to the bar.

“Your assistant came by a few hours ago,” Tom said. “I let him into your room—”

Newt’s heart leapt into his throat, and he didn’t bother with niceties. He sprinted to his room and unlocked the door with shaking hands—

To find the place empty. If Credence had been here, he’d gone again—

And taken Newt’s case with him.

Dumbledore caught up with Newt. “What’s wrong?”

Newt wiped tears from his eyes. “Credence was here.”

“How do you know?”

“He took my suitcase.” Newt grinned. “He thinks I’m dead, so he took the case. Must have come here right after I fell.”

“And that’s a positive thing?” Dumbledore seemed a little bemused.

“Yes. It means he’s still himself. It means Grindelwald isn’t controlling him—not completely.”

“Then why attack the Aurors? Why assist Grindelwald at all?”

“I don’t know.” Newt took a deep breath to calm himself. He couldn’t help the little spark of hope in his heart. “But it’s good news. Well, in a way, it’s not, since Credence has accidentally stolen all my things in addition to taking my creatures into his care.”

A little more somber, Newt crossed the room and gently removed Pickett’s body from his coat. He cast a preservation charm on it and set it atop his dresser. Pickett’s burial would have to wait until Newt found Credence again.

“I admire your optimism,” Dumbledore said.

“If you knew Credence, you’d feel the same. I trust him.” Newt paced around the room, restless. Without his case he had little to occupy himself other than sleep, though. “Maybe Credence is trying to stop Grindelwald from inside his group of followers.”

“That seems unlikely. He did most of the killing tonight.”

“Only after he thought I was dead. Maybe he thought the Aurors did it.”

“Perhaps, but even so, it means Grindelwald can trick him—”

“Or that he’s human and can be blinded by grief like the rest of us.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Fair point. I don’t mean to contradict all your hope. I only urge you to be cautiously optimistic if you must be optimistic at all.”

“Like I’ve been saying, you don’t know Credence like I do.” Newt lit the fire in his hearth to warm the chilly room. “Goodnight, Professor.”

“Goodnight.” Dumbledore left, but Newt couldn’t calm his mind enough for sleep.

Though Credence might be upset thinking Newt was dead, he was still himself. He might be lost, but he could still find his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the movies include the story of how Dumbledore met Fawkes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a pretty rough year in general and especially lately what with all the shitty things happening in the world. I'd just like to thank you all for being a bright part of my day, and I hope somehow this story brings you a fraction of the happiness you've all given me <3

In the city snow only stayed beautiful for a few hours at the most before it got churned into dark slush. But out here in the middle of nowhere, in the golden light of morning, the snow was still a pristine blanket covering the garden. Leta Lestrange sat on a bench, wearing elaborately embroidered robes in a deep purple, her hands and neck bare despite the cold. The slight tremble of her body and the steam of her breath bore the signs of self-punishment. Credence would have known it anywhere.

Though Credence could usually move quietly enough to avoid detection, the crunch of snow under his boots betrayed him. Leta turned, wand raised, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. When she saw Credence, her posture relaxed.

“I know you were raised by Muggles, but if you need something, ask the house-elf. That’s what they’re for.” Her words weren’t nearly as kind now as they had been yesterday.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Credence made himself approach Leta. Logically, he knew she wouldn’t lash out at him, but his instincts still screamed for him to be careful and not upset her.

“Oh.” Leta returned her gaze to the trees. “Join me, then.” She moved to make room for him on the bench.

Credence sat beside her. “You seem cold.”

“Not really. Did you come out here to discuss the weather?”

“No.” Credence pulled out the picture of Leta he’d found in Newt’s case. “How long had you known him?”

Leta stared at the image of herself, younger and smiling. “Where did you get that?”

“In Newt Scamander’s things.”

Tentatively, Leta reached out to take the picture. Credence let her hold it, wondering if she was afraid of him. “He kept this, all these years?”

“Yes.”

“We—we were at Hogwarts together.” Leta smiled despite the tears that gathered in her eyes. “Most people in our year couldn’t stand him, but he had a really beautiful way of looking at the world. I—we drifted apart. Then he was expelled, and I never saw him again. Until last night.” Leta handed the picture back to Credence. “Keep it. Throw it away, I don’t care. But I don’t want it.”

“Why are you helping Grindelwald?”

“The same reason you are.”

“I doubt it,” Credence said. “I don’t really know why I’m here. Now that Newt’s gone, I don’t have another choice.”

“I wish he hadn’t done it,” Leta said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “The girl in that picture wouldn’t have stood by and let Grindelwald kill someone in cold blood. Grindelwald promised me he’d spare Newt, but—” She brushed away her tears, hands shaking. “—but Newt always did have a knack for getting into trouble.”

“He did.” Credence’s voice sounded far away. Rage and disbelief threatened to tear him apart. He stood. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” Credence hurried off before he lost control of his Obscurus.

Stumbling into his room, he locked the door and slid to the ground. Credence managed to keep himself together for a few seconds before his Obscurus took over. Though his control had slipped, Credence managed to hover in his room without destroying anything.

This way was better, really, because he could analyze the facts without being hurt by their implications.

Grindelwald had killed Newt and lied about it. And, as always, Credence had believed him. He’d done exactly what Grindelwald wanted—killed his enemies. All for nothing. But Credence was a murderer, useless for anything else. He might as well not hold anything back, might as well kill everyone and break everything in his path—

With a jolt, Credence tumbled back into his body. He reformed kneeling on the ground, gasping. This pain wasn’t something he could run from. He had to face it head on or it would tear him apart.

Grindelwald had killed Newt to get rid of him, so that Credence would have nowhere else to go. Though Credence might never know if Newt was sincere or false, he was certain of Grindelwald, at least.

That was enough.

Credence stood and retrieved the case. _His_ case, now, though the thought of owning it was still strange. He left the room without looking back.

 

 

Grindelwald was in the library, reading a book while eating food from a tray the house-elf was holding despite the fact there was a perfectly good table on Grindelwald’s other side. He looked up and smiled when he saw Credence.

Out of all the terrible things that had been done to Credence in his life, he hated this the most—that false smile, the forced warmth in Grindelwald’s eyes, as if he cared for Credence. Grindelwald only loved one thing in this world: himself. With that in mind, everything else fell neatly into place.

“Are you going somewhere?” Grindelwald asked, his fake smile faltering when he noticed the suitcase in Credence’s hand.

“Yes.” Credence set the case down and stepped forward. Just the sight of Grindelwald made his Obscurus hard to control. He balanced on the edge between physical and incorporeal, his form flickering. He must have looked a sight, judging from the way Grindelwald’s already pale skin blanched.

The house-elf was also terrified. Credence tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Leave us, please.” The house-elf didn’t need another excuse before vanishing from the room.

Grindelwald stood. “Credence, is something wrong?” He managed to keep the fear out of his voice, but it was there in his eyes.

“Everything is wrong, because of you.” Credence stepped forward.

When Grindelwald moved back, giving ground, Credence’s heart leapt. He was in control, he was the one in the room with all the power.

“What did it feel like,” Credence asked, “when you killed him?”

“Killed—who?”

“Newt Scamander.”

“I didn’t—”

Magic lashed out of Credence, breaking a bookcase in half. Credence was distantly pleased that none of the books themselves were hurt. “Don’t lie. For once.”

The confusion on Grindelwald’s face vanished. His whole demeanor changed, and Credence knew he was meeting the real Grindelwald for the first time.

“Answer my question,” Credence said.

“It didn’t feel like anything. I was just checking an item off my to-do list.”

Credence crossed the room. With each step he took, Grindelwald moved back, until he was pressed against the broken bookcase.

“That’s not what killing feels like to me,” Credence said, stopping less than a foot from Grindelwald. “I didn’t really know why until Newt helped me understand, but killing someone else used to be the only way I could have any kind of control over my own life.”

“You don’t have to kill me—”

“I’m not going to. You have Newt to thank for that. He wouldn’t want me to kill you, because I deserve better than your worthless blood on my hands.”

“You need me. We need each other, Credence. Without me you’ll be hunted down and executed—”

Without thinking about it, Credence punched Grindelwald. His fist connected with Grindelwald’s nose hard enough to bruise his knuckles and split his skin, but Credence didn’t mind. He’d never felt so good in his life.

No—that wasn’t true. The quiet moments he’d spent in Newt’s company were of an entirely different caliber than this. But the sight of Grindelwald so shocked, so defenseless against such a Muggle way of handling a dispute, made Credence smile. His Obscurus settled down.

“If I ever see you again, I won’t be so merciful,” Credence said, then turned and walked out of the library, pausing only to retrieve his suitcase.

 

 

Cold morning air soothed his aching hand. Credence had never hit anyone before. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, but he supposed that had a certain eloquent balance to it. Blood trickled down his fingers as he cut a path through the snow and into the woods. If Grindelwald wanted to come after him and force the issue, Credence would be easy to track, but he didn’t care.

The bright sun turned the snow into patches of shimmering white, and blue sky shone through gaps in the frosted branches. Credence had never known how quiet a forest could be, and he’d never realized air this cold had a scent, a clear purity that clung to his skin and clothes. The scarf around his neck still smelled like Newt, but it wouldn’t forever.

The thought didn’t bring tears to Credence’s eyes anymore, but only a deep melancholy, a nostalgia for things that never had the chance to happen. If Newt had been lying about some of it, Credence had no room to be offended. He’d lied with every breath he’d taken in Newt’s presence.

If given the chance, Credence would go back and tell Newt everything. Maybe then Newt’s disgust would have kept him from searching for Credence, and he’d still be alive. That would have left Credence himself a pawn in Grindelwald’s hands, but the price of Newt’s life in exchange for some clarity was more than Credence would willingly pay.

But the choice hadn’t been his, so he walked through the silent trees, chasing his shadow west. He could travel much more quickly as an Obscurus, but he couldn’t take the suitcase with him. Touching it with such dark power might destroy it entirely. Credence had no choice but to follow the forest to wherever it led, and beyond that—he would figure it out.

A perfect spiderweb stretched across two trees, the strands covered in frost. Credence admired it as he walked past. In the distance something cracked, making him jump before he remembered what the cold could do to weak branches.

All around him the forest stretched, and past that the whole world. Credence could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted. He was beholden to no one, he was entirely alone, and he could stay that way as long as he desired. He wasn’t anyone’s pawn, now.

But he was still an Obscurial. That truth would follow him wherever he went. He could accept what he was, a wizard whose only power was to break and destroy, or he could try to cure himself and join the rest of the wizarding community.

Credence focused on the act of walking, which wasn’t much to occupy his mind unless he happened upon a steep slope or a dense cluster of trees. The quiet beauty around him was soothing but did little to make his choice for him.

In truth, Credence wasn’t sure what he wanted. Whenever he thought about it, he kept coming back to those moments on top of the smokestack with Newt, hot cocoa mugs in their hands and the horizon in front of them. It was more than just the way the wind ruffled Newt’s hair or his brilliant, infectious smile or the way the sun brought out his freckles—in those moments Credence had felt normal in a way he never had before. He’d finally understood what his magic could have been, what it should have been.

What he wanted—it was what Newt had been trying to give him: a way to untangle his power from the Obscurus, a way to use magic for more than just hurting himself and others. He wanted to become a real Magizoologist, to help magical creatures and to help people understand them. He wanted to be able to Apparate on his own—because as much fun as an endless trek through the snow was, he would have liked the option to be in civilization by lunchtime. He didn’t want to keep looking over his shoulder, wondering if someone noticed that his magic wasn’t quite right.

Credence wanted to be a wizard instead of an Obscurial. But for that—

For that he’d need a wand.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient while waiting for an update! It took so long because this chapter happened by accident! It's a Bonus Chapter, so it's a bit short, but the good news is I have the next chapter completely written and I'm working on the final chapter!
> 
> Hope everyone had a safe and happy New Year!

For hours Newt lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to browbeat sleep into coming. It never did. Instead his mind ran in circles. He himself was prone to tell others not to worry, but here he was spiraling into imagining the worst-case scenarios for Credence. A lifetime enslaved with the Imperius Curse, or Grindelwald thoroughly manipulating him into becoming a killer, a weapon, or Grindelwald subjecting him to another variety of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his Muggle mother. There were a thousand ways Credence could be suffering even now, and Newt could do nothing to stop any of it.

Desperate for something to hold onto, Newt kept reminding himself that Credence had returned for the suitcase, he was himself, and he had at least a little say in what happened to him.

But each time Newt tried to glimpse the silver lining, he thought of Grindelwald poisoning Credence, using him—

Restless, Newt rolled onto his side. It wasn’t any more comfortable than his previous position. The bed was too soft, or too lumpy or—too _something_.

With a frustrated sigh, Newt got out of bed and stoked the fire. He sat in front of it, letting its warmth wash away the chill in the air even if it couldn't remove the cold fear from his heart. He stared into the flames, wondering if he might catch some omen or glimpse of the future in them. A ridiculous hope, of course, he had no seers in his lineage and he’d never had an ounce of talent for Divination. What he did have was an exhausted brain prone to grasping at straws.

What he _needed_ was a solid plan of action. Newt was letting his worry consume him—which was why he was always warning others away from the habit. He wasn’t doing Credence any favors moping around as he was.

_A plan, a plan, a plan_. Some way of either drawing Grindelwald out or locating him… Newt felt as if the answer was just out of reach—

He woke a few hours later as the first light of dawn slipped past his curtains. His back ached from sleeping on the floor in front of the fireplace instead of his bed. The pain was what he got for that kind of nonsense.

By the time he got downstairs, Dumbledore was already sipping tea and reading the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_. By his expression he was currently reading the article about the attack on Paris.

Newt didn’t sit across from Dumbledore so much as collapse into the chair. His few hours of sleep hadn’t done him much good. Dumbledore himself looked obnoxiously bright-eyed this morning, though they’d both had the same long night before.

“Any news?” Newt asked.

“Nothing of particular use, though you’ll be happy to know they're keeping the Obscurial angle out of the papers. Mr. Barebone won’t have to worry about any amateur Obscurial hunters coming after him.”

“Just the professional ones, then.” Newt crossed his arms on the table to make a cushion for his head.

“Come now, where’s all that optimism from last night?”

“You told me to get rid of it.”

“Not in so many words.” The humor in Dumbledore’s voice made Newt look up.

“And why are you so cheerful?”

“Because I believe we’ll find your young man in time to save him from a terrible fate.”

“ _My young man_?” Newt sat up and stole a piece of toast from Dumbledore’s plate, too distracted to realize precisely who he was pilfering from. “You make it sound like I fancy him.”

Dumbledore sipped his tea, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t be absurd. He’s my assistant, and my friend—and he hates me, besides.”

“How can he be your friend if he hates you?”

“Is this really important right now?” Newt huffed. “Shouldn’t we be out there chasing leads—”

“As it happens, I’m waiting to meet a contact. So we have the time. Supposing you are reunited with Mr. Barebone, perhaps you ought to understand the nature of your feelings for him.”

“I don’t have any.” Newt rubbed his eyes. “I mean, of course I care about him. Anyone would. He’s quiet most of the time, but in a thoughtful way, and he has a gentle nature despite his upbringing and—and I should really order myself some breakfast, before I take all of yours.”

Newt had been about to wax poetic about Credence’s cheekbones, which really had no bearing on his personality. Newt scurried off to the bar to order breakfast, but when he returned he had nothing to do but wait for it to arrive and avoid eye contact with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, of course, wasn’t one to be dissuaded so easily. “It seems to me,” he said, refilling his cup of tea from the pot on the table, “that your assessment Mr. Barebone hates you might be incorrect.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“Yet he, at the very thought of your death, killed a dozen skilled Aurors in less than a minute.”

“That—I mean—” Newt was saved by Tom, who arrived with his order. Newt tried to rope Tom into conversation to avoid the previous subject, but for some reason Tom seemed eager to avoid lengthy contact with Newt. Only after Tom was gone did Newt remember he’d been bringing up Magizoology just about every time he spoke to Tom since he’d arrived in London. A double-edged sword, that.

“—You mean?” Dumbledore prompted as Newt started eating his eggs.

“Just because he doesn’t want me dead doesn’t mean he cares for me like I care for him—” Newt’s face flushed. “That is, as a friend, you know. A colleague, really, or a teacher. Anything more than a purely professional relationship between us would be inappropriate. He’s practically my student.”

Dumbledore pointedly didn’t say anything, only went on sipping his tea.

“Look, he might tolerate me, and he might respect me as a—a mentor or teacher or what have you, but he hardly makes eye contact with me—”

“Imagine someone not making eye contact,” Dumbledore said, laughter in his voice.

Newt, who hadn’t looked higher than the collar of Dumbledore's robes throughout most of breakfast, huffed a sigh. “That’s different, you—you’re Albus Dumbledore—you’re a bit intimidating—”

“And you’re Newt Scamander, the man who took Mr. Barebone in, gave him a home, a job, and hope for a better future. Being awestruck isn’t the same as hating.”

“Yes, well, must be nice to have all the answers.”

“I don’t. I just spend far too much time being subjected to the obliviousness of my own students. Would that I could stop a transfiguration lecture to inform everyone that, ‘Yes, Miss Bones does in fact reciprocate Miss Malfoy’s affections, and everyone would appreciate it if you stopped pining for each other.’”

Newt stared at Dumbledore for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Is it really that bad?”

“You can’t imagine. I’d thought that level of denial was unique to teenagers, but I see I was wrong.”

“Don’t start in on me again, I want to hear more. Do you all gossip about students in the teacher’s lounge?”

“Of course, what else have we to gossip about? You know,” Dumbledore said, setting his cup down. “I may not have met Mr. Barebone, but I did _see_ him last night. I saw the way he looked at you, just before poor Pickett was killed. That wasn’t hate.”

“Why do you even care?” Newt asked, pushing his food around his plate.

“Because life is fleeting, especially now. Dangerous times are coming. I’d hope you at least might listen to the advice I so rarely get to give: don’t pass up a chance at happiness, however far-fetched it may seem.”

“I am happy. Or, I will be, once he’s safe.”

Whatever other meddling nonsense Dumbledore was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of a large owl. It dropped a letter onto Newt’s plate. The script on the envelope was unfamiliar. He opened it.

_Newt_ , the letter read, _I got your owl ages ago, but they’ve been running us ragged here at work. Only just got a chance to write back. I can’t believe it, about our mutual friend. I’m more worried than ever, about, you know. But if anyone can help him, it’s you. And if you see our mutual enemy, keep your distance._

The note was signed simply _Tina_ , but there was another piece of paper in the envelope with an even hastier message:

_I just heard about Paris. Newt, they’re saying it was another Obscurial. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have half a mind to come over there to make sure this mess is sorted out. I trust you know what you’re doing_.

This one wasn’t signed, but Newt could hear it clearly in Tina’s voice. He tucked her letters into his pocket, then buried his face in his hands.

“Well, I should be going,” Dumbledore said, checking his pocket watch. “I’d invite you along, but Grindelwald and his followers think you’re dead. I find it best to keep them in the dark—”

“But if they know, they might tell Credence—”

“So he’ll come rushing back here?”

“Oh. Right.” They’d only use the knowledge against them, probably in the vein of trying to kill Newt again. “I suppose I’ll stay out of sight for a while.”

“And out of trouble, too, I hope.”

  


With Dumbledore gone Newt was left with precious few distractions. He decided to take a walk around Muggle London to clear his head of all the nonsense Dumbledore had been filling it with.

The morning was cold but the sky was bright blue above him. Newt toyed with the idea of buying a new scarf, but he didn’t have any Muggle money, so he pulled the collar of his coat higher and meandered through streets covered in slushy snow. The sight of it filled Newt with melancholy. It only reminded him of Credence’s expression when the first snowflakes had fallen in Diagon Alley—his eyes bright with wonder and his smile transforming his face from merely handsome to stunningly beautiful—

Alright, so what if Credence was easy on the eyes? That didn’t mean anything. Plenty of people were. Dumbledore himself was attractive, but Newt wasn’t mooning after him. He didn’t spend all his time thinking about _Dumbledore_ , or wondering how _Dumbledore_ would react to this or that and he certainly wasn’t always on the verge of saying something to _Dumbledore_ then remembering he wasn’t there, Newt didn’t feel like _Dumbledore_ was standing right beside him even when he wasn’t—

Just because he felt all those things for Credence didn’t mean he was _falling_ for him, of all the ridiculous—

Really, it was only because Newt had been traveling alone for so long. He had precious few friends, and those he only saw rarely if he managed not to annoy them so much they stopped being his friends altogether. Newt only cared for Credence so much because he’d stuck with him so long and because Credence would be with him indefinitely. All Newt’s feelings were normal and of the friendship variety.

And if occasionally he wanted to hold Credence it was only because Credence so often looked like he needed a hug, and if sometimes Newt found himself wondering how soft Credence’s lips were it was only because—

Because ever since that moment atop the smokestack when Credence had smiled for the first time in Newt’s presence, he’d wondered, in a small secret part of his mind he barely listened to, what it might be like to kiss him—

But only in a friendly way, of course. Newt hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in a long time, not since Leta, and that had ended in disaster and maybe—

_Maybe I’m afraid_.

Newt stopped walking so suddenly a Muggle bumped into him. He apologized and turned back for the Leaky Cauldron. He’d been afraid of the idea of having feelings for Credence because there was only one way it would end—in heartbreak. Newt hated the idea of Dumbledore being right on the principle that he himself should have realized a bit sooner. But now that he knew, he could put an end to his silly crush and be as good a friend to Credence as he was able.

By the time Newt got back to the Leaky Cauldron, his mind had settled into the idea that he had feelings for Credence. But he could control them, snuff them out. How hard could it be?

As Newt walked through the front doors, he spotted Dumbledore sitting at the same table where they’d had breakfast.

“Well?” Newt asked, slumping into the seat across from him.

“It was a trap, I’m afraid.”

“Trap? Are you alright?”

“Perfectly, though a bit disappointed. I don’t think Grindelwald takes me seriously, or he would have come himself.” If Dumbledore had just been in a fight, he didn’t show any signs of it.

“Or maybe he’s afraid to face you one-on-one?”

“Whatever the case, I appear to have reached the end of my resources for the moment.”

Newt wasn’t ready to go to the Ministry, it had always been a last resort to both of them. “Well, I’ve got a few ideas.”

Tom delivered two butterbeers to their table. Newt sipped his half-heartedly, trying to keep his mind on ways to find Grindelwald instead of just mooning over Credence.

He wasn’t entirely successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon that Dumbledore and McGonagall place bets on who's finally going to pluck up the courage and ask someone out.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading and being amazing <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter~

By the time the sun was at its highest point, Credence began to be jaded with the endless trees and snow. His stomach rumbled, and he realized the source of his sudden bad mood. He hadn’t eaten all day.

Kneeling beneath a tree, Credence untied the twine on his case and went inside. The air in Newt’s shed was warm and comforting as always. Credence took the time to check on everyone before he rummaged through Newt’s stores for something to eat. He found a great deal of what he hoped were potion ingredients and several varieties of tea, but in the way of sustenance there was only a small pot of sugar. If he’d had a way to light the stove, he might have cooked some of the raw meat Newt kept on hand for the Graphorns, but naturally Newt always relied on magic to start fires. Credence couldn’t even heat water for a cup of tea—not that he wanted any.

For a moment Credence wondered what Newt would say if he caught him actually enjoying the drink. But Newt wouldn’t ever know one way or another if Credence used up his whole supply of tea or let it collect dust forever. Newt wasn’t around to joke about the inferiority of coffee or how he’d convert Credence eventually or—

Or to see Credence sink to the floor, body wracked with sobs. There was no one around to witness him fall apart. For once he didn’t feel the pull of his Obscurus, he wasn’t tempted to step away from his pain and loss, because doing so meant turning his back on the memory of Newt and all he’d done for Credence. Giving up his grief would mean giving up a part of Newt, and Credence—in his own broken, shameful way—loved Newt, or at least loved the idea of him. Now all he had left to love were memories.

The shed door creaked open and Credence jumped. But it was only the niffler come to investigate.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here,” Credence said, picking the niffler up and scratching it under its chin. The niffler stuck its snout into Credence’s pocket and emerged with a gold coin in its mouth. “You little thief.” Credence let the niffler have his money. It wasn’t as if he could buy lunch with it anywhere nearby.

After putting the niffler outside the shed and firmly closing the door, Credence turned to Newt’s desk. Maybe Newt had some food squirreled away in one of the drawers. The first he opened contained only papers—

And atop the pile sat the passenger list from the ship. Credence opened it to the page with the surnames beginning with _S_. _Newt Scamander_ was halfway down the page, and beneath it, though it should have been before if listed in alphabetical order—a detail Newt had forgotten when he altered the paper—was _Credence Scamander_. At the time Credence thought little of the adoption of Newt’s name, but now it held a certain appeal. He’d grown to hate _Barebone_ because it was Mary Lou’s name, not his. She’d not only taken the normal use of his magic away, but his history as well. She’d known Credence’s mother was a witch but had never told him his mother’s name. He would probably never know who his biological parents had been.

But taking the name Scamander might ruffle a few feathers in the wizarding community. From what Credence understood, lineage was a huge deal to witches and wizards, and people might assume he was trying to usurp the name. Maybe he could pick another one for himself.

There was no food in Newt’s desk, but Credence took the manuscript sitting atop it. At least he’d have something to occupy himself while he walked other than thinking about how hungry he was. Back outside, Credence tied up his case and continued his journey west.

Reading Newt’s book made Credence’s heart twist. He could hear the words in Newt’s voice, he could even imagine the way he would move and gesture as he explained things to Credence. Much of what was in the pages Newt had told Credence before, but there was a wealth of information he didn’t have. Credence got so distracted by reading he nearly ran into a tree on several occasions, and once his foot slipped on a rock under the snow and he tumbled down a small slope. Neither his case nor the manuscript were damaged, and he escaped with only bruised pride, but Credence recovered quickly. No one had witnessed his misstep. As he brushed snow off his coat, Credence began to giggle. He was shaping up to be a fine Magizoologist—alone in the woods for half a day and already cracking up.

Still chuckling to himself, Credence passed through a copse of trees and stopped dead. Across a meadow stood a large skeletal horse with huge wings.

The animal was terrifying at first blush, its form barely more than skin and bone, its dark hide at odds with the white snow around it. Credence ducked back behind a tree, unsure of what to do. Go another way to avoid it? Wait for it to move away on its own?

Credence realized he was likely holding the answer in his hands. He flipped through Newt’s book until he found an illustration similar to the creature before him: a thestral, as it turned out. They were carnivorous—

The thestral in the meadow nosed through the snow, searching for something to eat. It was probably as hungry as Credence was. Newt’s notes said that thestrals were gentle creatures but misunderstood because only those who’d seen death could see them.

The thestral continued to move through the meadow. It looked so thin—

Making up his mind, Credence hurriedly opened his case and rushed inside. He reemerged with a piece of raw meat. There was plenty for the Graphorns, and this might go a long way for the poor hungry thestral.

Slowly, Credence walked towards the creature, his hands outstretched with the offering of food. The thestral noticed him, but instead of fleeing, it approached him, sniffing the air. Credence tossed the meat in front of the thestral, who snatched it up and ate it quickly. Then it nosed Credence’s hand, hoping for more.

“Oh—alright. Wait right here.” Credence turned and went back into the case. He brought back two more bloody steaks, which the thestral ate with the same enthusiasm as the first.

When he thestral started begging for more, Credence sighed, rubbing its neck. “That’s all I can spare. I’m sorry.”

The thestral snorted, then licked the blood off Credence’s fingers. It tickled.

“Says in this book you have a great sense of direction,” Credence said, laughing, “I don’t guess you can tell me how to get to London?”

The thestral bent at the knee, lowering its back. Credence stared at it a moment, then reread the passage on thestrals. It didn’t say anything about this kind of behavior. It was almost like the thestral was offering to give him a ride.

With nothing to lose but a little more pride if he was wrong, Credence grabbed his suitcase and approached the thestral, who was still waiting in the same position. He’d never ridden a horse before, but he managed to get astride the thestral after two failed attempts. With the suitcase he was a little wobbly, but he held onto its mane with one hand, after tucking Newt’s book into his pocket.

When he was settled, the thestral took off with a few beats of its huge wings. The world shrank beneath them, and soon Credence had to use all his concentration to keep from falling off.

The thestral rose high into the air, the motion of its wings making Credence a little sick to his stomach, like being on the ship had done. Once the thestral got high enough, it began to coast, and Credence’s stomach settled.

Now that he was sure he wouldn’t tumble to his death, Credence watched the ground move past. The forest stretched for miles and miles. He would have been walking the rest of the day at least. But the thestral soared over it all.

The air was sharp and cold, but Credence couldn't free a hand to pull his scarf up. He was equally afraid of taking a hand off the case as he was letting go of the thestral’s neck.

The forest gave way to fields dotted with houses, then small towns. Around the time they flew over the first proper city, Credence’s fear had ebbed enough for him to feel hungry again, but the stabbing pains in his stomach were nothing new. Mary Lou had often sent him to bed without dinner when he’d misbehaved, even if Credence himself didn’t understand what it was he’d done wrong all the time.

When he got to London, if the thestral was indeed taking him there and not to some nest where he’d be eaten, he could spend the gold Newt had given him on a decent amount of food to stock the suitcase. That would prevent anymore skipped meals.

_Honestly_ , Credence thought, _with the way Newt lived, you’d think he’d have kept some crackers around, at least._ The animal’s stores were well stocked, which was probably all Newt had cared to remember.

Some time later—how much, Credence didn’t know, since he didn’t have a pocket watch, the thestral soared high above a seaside town, then over the water. Credence hoped England was on the other side, and he hoped it was close. His entire body ached from the way he was hunched over the thestral’s back, and the hand he’d used to punch Grindelwald hurt more with each heartbeat.

Land appeared at last, countryside and maybe moors, though Credence wasn’t exactly sure what those were, only that if the stories were to be believed, England was full of them. By the position of the sun, Credence figured they were flying south, but beyond that he had to trust the thestral. Each time he saw buildings on the horizon he perked up, but they usually turned out to be small towns.

Then, finally, a city so sprawling it had to be London appeared. Though he’d given the thestral no more specifics than just the name of the city, it descended and landed in an alley across the street from the Leaky Cauldron.

With less grace than he would have hoped for, Credence more or less fell off the thestral’s back and onto the solid ground. When he’d steadied himself, he patted the thestral’s neck.

“Thank you. If you wait here, I can buy you some more food.” Credence wasn’t sure, but Tom would probably sell him something raw, or he could find a way into Diagon Alley. If he had any Muggle money he could have visited a butcher’s shop, but he didn’t think they’d appreciate the strange gold coins.

The thestral snorted and pressed its nose into Credence’s shoulder in an affectionate way. Credence took that as an affirmation the thestral would wait so he could send it off with a full stomach.

The snow on the streets had turned to the usual slush Credence was used to from back in New York. He realized he’d only been gone a day and a half. It felt like an eternity. Just a few days ago he and Newt had arrived here with so much hope for the future—

Credence brushed tears from his eyes. No time to get weepy, not when he had so much to do. Never mind that every brick and window made him think of seeing it all for the first time with Newt. He tried to imagine going to some of the Muggle tourist locations they’d visited and couldn’t. How could he bear to stand in the same places, but alone? He would have to forge new paths. There was still a lot of world left to explore, after all.

But first, food for the thestral, food for himself, and a wand. Credence did his best to ignore the ghosts of the past as he crossed the street and entered the Leaky Cauldron.

The lunch crowd was well gone and the dinner rush hadn’t started, so the pub wasn’t too busy. Credence headed for the bar.

As he passed some of the tables set out of easy sight, he couldn’t help overhear a conversation.

“—it’s not such a ridiculous idea, taking out ads. They wouldn’t have to say much, just ‘I’m alive,’ you know. Might even put some out in the Muggle papers, he might read those—” A voice, so achingly familiar—

“I think that might be a bit much.” A stranger, sounding like he’d been going in circles for a while on the subject, “We should focus on locating Grindelwald’s followers—”

Credence turned, his bruised right hand too weak to keep holding his suitcase. It dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

The men sitting in the corner glanced up to see the source of the noise. All the air rushed out of Credence’s lungs and his head grew light.

Impossible—

He couldn’t—

Newt was—

He was dead, everyone saw it, Credence himself had seen Newt fall—

But here Newt was, standing up with that same bright smile he always wore, like he’d just been told the best news of his life. Even in the dimly lit pub he was radiant with his blue coat and red hair and the freckles on his nose and his eyes shining with unshed tears and his laughter—Credence could have heard nothing else for the rest of his life and been happy.

Credence barely had time to register the other man at the table—Dumbledore, unless Grindelwald had been lying about that too, the man with auburn hair and light blue robes, though he wore lavender ones now—

Then Newt was all motion, approaching Credence like they hadn’t seen each other in years instead of days—

And Newt stopped just short of Credence, his arms raised as if to hug him. Then he thought better of it.

“Credence, you’re—you’re here, you’re alright—”

“I— _I’m_ alright?” Credence said, voice breaking. “Everyone said you were—” He couldn’t get the word past the lump in his throat. This had to be a dream, it was too good to be true, that Newt was really standing there in front of him, hesitating only inches away, as if Newt wanted to hug Credence but was afraid of—of invading his space or—touching him at all—

But then Credence always was the one to shy away from contact with Newt because of how it made him feel—

Without pausing to think, Credence closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Newt. He was real, solid, alive and warm and he smelled like butterbeer and the inside of his suitcase and Newt only hesitated a moment before returning Credence’s embrace, laughing and crying at the same time—and—

And Credence was sobbing into Newt’s collar in a pub that wasn’t crowded but wasn’t empty, either. Everyone would be able to look at him and see how he felt about Newt, see that his affections were more than platonic—

But he was too elated to care. His pulse raced and his head was still a bit fuzzy and he’d never felt closer to falling apart or further away from losing control of his Obscurus. He was solid and here and—

And he was _home_. For better or worse, Credence belonged with Newt and whatever friendship Newt offered was enough, more than enough, because even though being in Newt’s arms was tearing him apart it was entirely different from the way his own magic pulled at the seams of his soul—this was love, or as close as Credence could feel, and it was like burning alive and drowning and missing the last step on a staircase all at once. While anger and fear fueled his Obscurus, made him want to stop being human entirely, this pain made him grateful he could feel at all.

“How?” Credence asked, voice muffled by Newt’s coat.

“It’s—it’s a long story. Later. But you—how did you escape Grindelwald?” Newt stepped back, looking Credence up and down. “Did he hurt you—?” Newt gently lifted Credence’s hand. “What did he do—?”

“It’s fine—I mean, it might be broken—”

“He broke your hand?” Newt had never sounded so terrifying. It sent a chill through Credence that wasn’t unpleasant.

“No—I broke it—”

“On what?”

“Grindelwald’s face.”

At the table the man—Dumbledore—snorted into his drink with enough force to send butterbeer all over his fancy robes.

“His…face?” Newt looked like he was trying to be impressed and horrified and amused all at once. “Come on, let me have a look at it.” Without letting go of Credence’s injured hand—as if he, too, worried that if they lost physical contact the other would simply cease to exist—Newt started to lead him to the table.

“Wait, my—I mean, your suitcase—” Credence grabbed it, a blush heating his cheeks. “I can’t believe I accidentally stole all your stuff.”

“Nonsense, you reacted exactly as I’d hoped you might if I died—” Newt paused, his face growing as red as Credence’s must have been. “I don’t suppose you read the letter I left?”

“I did.”

“Well, never mind all that.” Newt pulled a chair out for Credence. “Sit down, you must be exhausted—this is Albus Dumbledore, a professor at Hogwarts. He helped me search for you, though I suppose you went and rescued yourself—”

“Nice to meet you,” Credence said, sitting at the table without meeting Dumbledore’s eye.

“The pleasure is mine.” Dumbledore paused for a moment. “Might I ask how—and why—you escaped Grindelwald?”

“He—he told me the Aurors had killed Newt.” Credence stared at the table. Beside him, Newt took his hand again and cast a spell that healed it almost instantly. The lack of pain did little to ground him, and the fact Newt’s touch lingered a bit longer than necessary wasn’t making any of this feel more real, either. “But I found out it was Grindelwald. So I punched him in the face and left.”

“Where is he?” Dumbledore asked.

“I—I don’t know—I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright.” Newt still held Credence’s hand, a friendly gesture meant to be comforting.

Guilt crept into Credence’s heart. He should pull away, or tell Newt, but it wasn’t as if he could blurt his darkest secret in front of a stranger. Later. Later he would come clean and deal with the consequences.

“I was in a big house in a forest. Somewhere in Europe. Owned by the Lestranges.”

Newt’s hand twitched. Credence was afraid to look at him.

“How did you get back?” Newt asked.

“A—a thestral,” Credence stood abruptly, his hand leaving Newt’s. “I can’t believe I forgot—I have to get something to feed it. I promised.”

“A wild thestral?” Dumbledore asked, sounding impressed, as if Credence had done something more than stumble into the creature’s path and accept its help.

Newt frowned. “It’s probably already left to return to its herd.”

“Herd? When I found it, it was alone.”

Newt stood. “That’s very unusual, they’re herd animals, so if it was on its own, something must have happened to the others.”

Tom was more than happy to sell them a few uncooked steaks, and he didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the request. Credence, Newt, and Dumbledore walked across the street to where the thestral still waited.

“She seems in good shape,” Newt said. The thestral perked up at the sight of their approach—or perhaps at the smell of the meat.

Credence tossed her the first steak. “But she’s so thin.”

“That’s normal. Hang on,” Newt turned to Credence, grinning. “You knew this is a thestral. You read my book?”

“Yes, some of it. It’s great, people are going to love it.”

Dumbledore seemed to grow very interested in a nearby Muggle shop that sold clocks. He drifted away from them.

Silence filled the space between Credence and Newt, punctuated only by the sound of the thestral eating. They turned to each other at the same time—

“I’m sorry,” Credence said in unison with Newt.

“You have nothing to apologize for—” Newt said.

“Yes, I do, I left, I could have stopped him, you know I could have, but I—I was so stupid, he kept lying and I believed him and I—I’m a _murderer_ —”

“He manipulated you, it’s not your fault—”

“They’re going to arrest me—”

“No.” Newt placed his hands on Credence’s shoulders. “I’ll protect you. I’m not losing my assistant again.”

Slowly, Credence looked up at Newt. “I still have the job?”

“For as long as you want it.”

Something moved between them, some significance Credence couldn’t fully fathom. He held Newt’s gaze, trying to understand—

And the thestral licked the side of Credence’s face. He laughed, almost relieved the moment had passed. “What are we going to do with her?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something.” Newt grinned, rubbing the thestral’s snout. “Welcome home.”

For a moment Credence didn’t realize Newt was talking to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Screams into a pillow for 400 years]


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this was (originally) supposed to be the final chapter but... writers make chapter outlines and god laughs, etc., so I split the chapter into two because it was already Way Too Long and I hadn't even gotten to the Good Parts. Enjoy this shamelessly self-indulgent fluff (part one).
> 
> Also, there's a bit of overlapping timeline-wise in the beginning of this, and the POV character switches in the middle.

Admittedly, Newt’s plans for letting Credence know he was still alive had gone from practical to absurd fairly quickly. Dumbledore bore them with the stoicism of someone used to dealing with homework written by eleven-year-olds, whereas Newt himself might have walked out of the room ages ago if their positions had been reversed.

And—just as he’d been pitching his most desperate idea—Credence had stumbled into the middle of their conversation, wearing Newt’s scarf and carrying Newt’s case with such a confident air of ownership it took Newt’s breath for a moment. Someone else might have been offended that Credence had so easily adopted two of Newt’s favorite possessions as his own, but Newt only felt proud and Credence _did_ look wonderful in Hufflepuff colors and—

And Credence was _there_ , whole and mostly undamaged. Newt nearly forgot himself and hugged Credence, but he stopped just in time. He might have had less than platonic feelings about Credence, but he had to respect Credence’s wishes—

Then Credence hugged him, sobbing, and Newt was crying too—and unable to avoid thinking that though the suitcase at Credence’s feet was in truth where he lived, holding Credence felt like home. And as terrifying as that was—because Credence was still an Obscurial, he could still die any day, and because Credence would never feel the same way about him, which was already breaking his heart piece by piece—Newt didn’t want anything to change.

Though of course it would, eventually, Newt let himself get lost in the moment, here with Credence again at last. He would find happiness where he could, while he could.

 

The days that followed passed in a blur. Now that Credence was safely back, Dumbledore could go to the Ministry with all the information on Grindelwald Credence had given them. Newt and Credence intended to stay well out of the affair. Newt didn’t want either of them getting tangled up with the manhunt or anything having to do with Grindelwald ever again. Credence agreed.

Together with Dumbledore, they laid Pickett’s body to rest under the bowtruckle tree. Newt cried silently, standing a few feet from Credence, who was wracked with guilt despite Newt’s efforts to assure him it was Grindelwald’s fault alone. The other bowtruckles were just as upset as Newt. They’d cared about Pickett more than Pickett realized.

After Dumbledore left to return to Hogwarts, Newt and Credence spent their days wandering Diagon Alley or London. Newt was waiting for word on whether or not his book would be published, and Credence for word from Ollivander about the thunderbird wand.

Since freeing himself from Grindelwald’s clutches, Credence seemed more distant than ever. He’d often go long stretches without talking, then part his lips as if to speak, only to change his mind. The behavior perplexed Newt, but he’d never really been good at parsing other people’s actions. Since that one lingering embrace the day he returned, Credence hadn’t so much as allowed their elbows to brush while walking.

Newt had no right to be disappointed. He did his best to ignore the ache in his chest when he made Credence laugh and the way his pulse raced when he caught a glimpse of Credence’s smile from the corner of his eye. He tried to force his feelings back into the realm of friendship, but it was as impossible as unbrewing a potion.

They continued to practice magic every day with no change, except Credence’s Obscurus made no appearances. He never lost control even for a moment.

“It’s a good sign,” Newt said, sitting across from Credence on the floor of his shed. “Are you still meditating daily on how magic—”

“—is a part of me. Yes. I am.” He paused, staring at his hands. “I am now. When I thought you were dead, I—”

“A good enough reason to take a holiday from it.” Newt smiled as he watched Credence try to cast another spell. He’d decided to have Credence work his way through the first-year spells to see if anything stuck. In reality, they were both biding time until the new wand arrived. “Speaking of holidays, it’s Christmas Eve. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“Not really.”

Newt realized his mistake too late. At any mention of Christmas, Credence became glum. Only Muggles could ruin such a grand holiday with all their notions of hateful religion. “If you want, you can sit it out. But I’d hoped you might let me show you how wizards celebrate.” _And how many Muggles do, too_ , Newt could have added, _the ones who are half decent_.

“Newt, I—” Credence set Newt’s wand aside and wrapped his arms around himself. “I’d like that. Thank you.” He stared at the far wall, face turned away from Newt.

“Well, come on, then.” Newt retrieved his wand and hoped to his feet. “No time to waste.”

 

The Leaky Cauldron was full of last minute shoppers and patrons meeting family and friends for a pint. Tom was sporting a pair of reindeer antlers enchanted to make fake snow fall around him. The whole pub smelled like an evergreen tree because of the one dominating a corner. It had more tinsel than the tree could have supported without magical intervention. Multicolored lights drifted through the room, mostly keeping to the ceiling but occasionally drifting down towards the tables like shining snow.

Newt glanced expectantly at Credence, eager to see his reaction, but Credence had the thousand-yard stare of someone preoccupied with unpleasant thoughts.

Well, then. Newt would just have to try harder to replace bad memories with good ones.

Newt ordered their drinks and waited while Tom poured two glasses of butterbeer. Spots by the fireplace were all taken, so Newt led Credence to a table that was nearly engulfed by the Christmas tree. This part of the pub was quieter, anyway.

Credence sipped his drink without even the hint of a smile.

“Are you alright?” Newt asked, leaning forward and almost—almost—reaching out to touch his hand. “If you want to go somewhere else—”

“No—It’s—I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin Christmas.”

“You couldn’t possibly.” Newt drank from his glass to keep from saying something more, something along the lines of _as long as you’re here, nothing could possibly be ruined, ever_.

Credence stared at the table as one of those strange silences descended between them. Newt wondered, not for the first time, if something more had happened to Credence while he was with Grindelwald than he’d said. Newt stopped that line of thinking because it made him angrier than he wanted to be, especially in the midst of so much cheer. Whatever happened wasn’t Newt’s business, and Credence would talk about it if and when he wanted.

They finished their drinks with little conversation. It made Newt’s heart ache, because it felt like—like the end, when it should have been a beginning.

Credence was drifting away from him. Perhaps when he had his wand and could use magic, when his Obscurus was gone, he’d decide he didn’t like Magizoology after all, or at least not enough to endure Newt’s company to pursue it.

Whatever the case, Newt decided to make the most of whatever time they had left.

“Come on,” Newt stood. “There’s lots more.”

They went out back and Newt opened the gateway to Diagon Alley. It was so brightly lit it turned the gently falling snow into multicolored flakes of light. Nearly every shop had a tree in its window, or on the street, and the decorations varied from traditional to unusual—the potions supply shop had little bottles hanging on theirs, and Flourish and Blotts had a tree made entirely of books, the pages enchanted to mimic the texture of evergreen boughs.

The sheer scope of it all at last seemed to draw Credence out of whatever darkness lurked in his mind.

“It’s beautiful.” The soft wonder in his voice filled Newt with more joy than all the holiday trappings around them.

_I’m in trouble_ , Newt thought. He wasn’t unaccustomed to finding himself in difficult situations, but he usually knew how to get out of them again. But in this he was hopelessly lost. His affections for Leta had been ripped out of him all at once, and he’d never let himself care so much for a person since. With Tina there had been something—a possibility of deeper affections if they’d had the chance. And with Credence—

With Credence he was already drowning. Untangling his affections was a problem he didn’t even know how to approach.

“Oh, this isn’t even what I wanted to show you,” Newt said, trying to keep his tone cheerful.

They walked further down the Alley. The crowd grew denser around the opening of a tent that had been erected in a small empty space between two buildings. The tent itself was patchwork and appeared to have been made out of a dozen other tents—or perhaps bedsheets. A family of four ducked inside. Newt and Credence entered after them.

Inside was a space roughly the size of a quidditch field. Around the edges were a few stands selling butterbeer and pastries. The center of the room was dominated by a huge frozen pond. The ceiling had been enchanted to display a clear night sky, the kind you couldn’t see in London because of all the lights. Multicolored flames lined the edge of the ice, illuminating dozens of skaters.

Newt turned to Credence, who was staring at the scene with apprehension.

“I don’t suppose you’ve been ice skating before?”

“No. Always wanted to try but—” Credence frowned in the way that meant he was trying not to think about Mary Lou Barebone.

“Well, today’s your lucky day.” Newt waved his wand at Credence’s boots. They became skates, giving him a few extra inches of height above Newt. “I’ll teach you. It’s easy.” Newt conjured his own pair.

“Easy?” Credence asked.

“I put a balancing charm on your skates. On mine, too. Never can be too careful.”

“Not sure anyone’s ever accused you of that,” Credence said, taking a few tentative steps.

“The way I see it, if you can’t be _too_ careful, that means you can’t ever be careful enough, so there’s no sense in trying to be careful at all.”

“Now that sounds more like you.”

Newt offered Credence his arm. “Ready to learn something new?”

For a moment Credence hesitated, then he placed his hand on Newt’s elbow. “Yes.”

  


 

In truth Credence had intended confess everything to Newt as soon as they were alone. Then Credence had learned about Pickett’s death, and Dumbledore hung about for a while to help them lay the bowtruckle to rest, and to get as much information about Grindelwald as Credence could supply. Credence hadn’t wanted to hurt Newt more than he’d already done, he didn’t want to burden a grieving person with more unpleasantness. A few days, Credence told himself, to let Newt begin to heal from the loss of a friend.

A few days turned into a few more, because Credence was weak, and a coward, and he cherished being in Newt’s company and didn’t want it to end. Then Newt had mentioned Christmas again with so much excitement Credence knew he couldn’t risk spoiling the holiday for him.

After Christmas, Credence decided. After Christmas he would bear his soul and sins to Newt.

But now it was Christmas Eve and Newt was arm-in-arm with him on a frozen pond, teaching him how to skate, and Credence was having trouble focusing on his advice because his heart was in his throat and—

The blade of his skate hit a groove in the ice and he pitched forward too fast for the charm to stop him. They both tumbled to the ice and landed in a heap of tangled limbs and breathless laughter. Falling hadn’t hurt as much as Credence thought it might.

“Balancing charm?” Credence said through giggles.

“No magic is foolproof.”

“How do we get back up?”

“Carefully.” Newt stood, then helped Credence to his feet. “Well, we’ve got the worst part out of the way.”

“Scamander?” said a booming voice. “Is that you?”

Newt’s easy grin turned to a grimace as a tall, muscular man approached them. “Ah, Bell. Yes. It’s me.”

“Surprised you’re showing your face around here again.” Bell laughed like he’d said something particularly clever. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, he’s my new Magizoology assistant—”

Bell cut Newt off. “Don’t recognize him from school. Another dropout like yourself?”

“No.” Newt stared at the ice. “He’s American, went to Ilvermorny—”

“Had to go that far to get someone who’d work with you, eh?” Bell chuckled again as if they were all sharing a joke.

Anger began to burn in Credence’s stomach. It roused his Obscurus, something that hadn’t happened in days. Credence took a half-step in front of Newt, partially shielding him.

“Who are you?” Credence asked, making himself meet Bell’s eye. Bell might have been a wizard, but Credence himself could kill dozens like him at a whim. He’d punched one of the most dangerous people alive in the nose. He was an Obscurial, a living nightmare. He didn’t have to be afraid.

“Jeffrey Bell, Scamander and I were in the same year. Different houses.”

“Funny,” Credence said, unsmiling. “I’ve never heard of you. Guess you weren’t worth mentioning.”

The false grin fell away from Bell’s face. “I suppose Americans really are as rude as they say.”

“Then—” Credence’s hands shook and heat rose in his cheeks, but he pressed on. “Then maybe you should go bother someone more polite.”

Bell crossed his arms, affronted. “Scamander, are you going let your assistant talk to me like that—?”

“Excuse me,” Credence said, “But Mr. Scamander is the world’s leading Magizoologist, he’s a very busy man. If you want to talk to him you’ll have to make an appointment.”

“An appointment—?”

“Good bye.” Credence grabbed Newt’s arm and managed to skate away without falling over again. By the time they got out of earshot of Bell, Credence was shaking from the confrontation.

“Thank you for getting rid of him,” Newt said. “He was a bully in school. _So_ wonderful to see he still is.” Newt began to laugh. “An _appointment_?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind. Important people always make you have an appointment.”

“You think I’m important?” Newt was pointedly not looking at Credence. A nearby fire cast a red glow over Newt’s cheeks.

“Of course—” Credence faltered. There was so much he wanted to say, but most of it touched on the secret he still held close to his heart. “I mean, you’re going to get your book published, and everyone will respect you—”

“You finally got the hang of it,” Newt interrupted.

“What?”

“Skating. The trick is to move without thinking.”

Of course once Newt said that, it made skating without thinking about it impossible. After a few more near misses with falling, they decided to take a break and enjoy some of the food being sold.

Benches lined the edge of the tent. They sat on one and Credence stared up at the enchanted ceiling.

“Are there really that many stars?” It seemed impossible.

“Yes, why wouldn’t there be?”

“Just thought maybe whoever made this place added some extra. I might.” Whether real or not, the effect was beautiful. In the center of the sky the stars clustered so close together it almost seemed to make a stripe across the darkness.

“I wasn’t the best astronomy student,” Newt said, “but I can still remember most of the constellations. I have a few books lying around somewhere, too, if you’re interested.”

“Yeah, sure.” There was a high chance he’d never get the opportunity to borrow more of Newt’s books. But for now, it was nice to pretend things would go on as they had been.

“Credence,” Newt began, hesitant, staring at the drink in his hands rather than at Credence, “are you sure you’re alright? About everything? Because if you need to—to talk about it or—”

For one disorienting moment Credence thought somehow Newt knew what he’d planned to confess. The he realized Newt meant being kidnapped by Grindelwald. “I don’t—” The memory of Grindelwald's touch hit him like fire racing across his skin. “—I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine. It’s just strange, adjusting to all this. To—to belonging somewhere.” _For now_.

But no matter what happened with Newt, Credence would always belong in the wizarding world. That was something no one could take from him.

“Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m here for you. Always.”

Credence couldn’t answer, all his words got stuck on the lump in his throat. He was glad Newt wasn’t looking at him, he might have noticed the tears gathering in Credence’s eyes.

This would probably be the last peaceful, truly happy night of his life. Credence finished his drink.

“Do you want to skate more?” Credence asked. When he wasn’t over thinking it, skating was actually quite enjoyable.

“Absolutely.” Newt helped Credence up, and they both returned to the ice.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember that one time, last chapter, I said this would be 19 chapters long? And remember that time, right now, that I admitted I accidentally lied and this will be 20 chapters because I very much underestimated the number of words it would take to bring this story to a proper and satisfying conclusion?
> 
> Good times.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and being fabulous as always <3 I keep saying it but it keeps being true and I love you all!
> 
> P.S., this is another chapter with a POV change in the middle.

Once he allowed himself to enjoy the evening, Credence found he really did like Christmas. After exhausting themselves skating, he and Newt meandered back through Diagon Alley. They stopped to listen to some carolers and to explore a few shops. They ate dinner at the Leaky Cauldron before stumbling upstairs.

Credence was drunk on happiness, something he never realized was possible. But his chest felt light and the slightest provocation sent him into a fit of giggles. Newt seemed in a similarly good mood.

“Come on, I’ve saved the best part for last,” Newt said, opening his room and ushering Credence inside.

The room was empty of any personal effects but the suitcase, as usual. Newt opened it and held out a hand to stop Credence following him.

“Wait just a moment. It's not done yet.”

“Okay.” Credence sat on the edge of Newt’s bed, uncertain. A few minutes passed and Credence began to fret. What could Newt possibly be doing?

After about ten minutes, Newt poked his head out of the case. “It’s ready.” He disappeared again.

Credence didn’t waste any time climbing down into the case. Newt’s shed seemed exactly the same as always.

“What did you do?” Credence asked.

“You’ll see. Come on,” Newt waved him through the shed door.

Outside was an entirely new habitat, or one Newt had converted to drastically Credence didn’t find it familiar. A huge Christmas tree dominated the center, covered in every kind of ornament Credence could imagine, from delicate glass balls to large, elaborate creations made from feathers. Enchanted lights glowed in shades that changed as Credence watched.

“Absolutely not!” Newt shouted, startling Credence. Newt lunged forward and grabbed the niffler before it could start ransacking the tree of everything shiny. “What did I tell you? This room’s off limits for you.”

Credence covered his mouth to stifle laughter as Newt stormed out of the habitat with the niffler. While he was gone, Credence took his time examining all the ornaments, then the rest of the room.

There was snow on the ground, and the sky was dark and filled with stars, but on one side of the habitat there was an alcove with a roaring fireplace and a table with two chairs. On the table were a chess board and two mugs of hot cocoa.

The tree was so large Credence almost walked past it without noticing what was underneath. A glimmer of shiny paper caught his eye, and he stooped to investigate.

Several boxes wrapped in fine paper and ribbon sat under the tree. They made Credence’s heart sink. But surely the gifts weren’t only for Credence himself—in fact, it was selfish and arrogant to think any of them were meant for him at all—

“Ah, snooping, a classic Christmas pastime,” Newt said, walking back into the habitat. “Don’t shake any of the boxes, though, some are, er, more volatile than others.”

“Whose—?”

“Yours, obviously. I don’t usually wrap everyone else’s gifts, not all of them have opposable thumbs. It’s a bit rude to expect them to unwrap things.”

“Are—are all of these—”

“Yes, all yours. I sent everyone else’s by owl post a few days ago.”

“But—but I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t have to get me anything—”

“I did,” Credence said, “but I didn’t wrap it. I’m sorry, you did all this for me and—” and as always, Credence had nothing in return to give, nothing but one paltry, foolish gift that seemed so inconsequential compared to the boxes under the tree, and the tree itself—all of it—

“Wrapping isn’t necessary, it’s just so you don’t spoil the surprise. We can stay up until midnight and exchange gifts, or just do it in the morning—”

“Midnight.” Best get it over with. Credence had spent all day working himself up to tell Newt. They would exchange gifts, Credence would come clean, and it would all be over.

Then again, if he ruined everything just after midnight on Christmas Day, it would spoil the rest of the holiday. Maybe he could put it off until the twenty-sixth—

Credence stopped himself. That kind of thinking was what got him into this mess in the first place. He should have told Newt before Newt went and got him all these gifts.

“Midnight it is.” Newt’s smile lit up the room in a way the Christmas tree lights and stars could never hope to.

They played chess to pass the few hours remaining before twelve o’clock. Newt kept checking his watch as time drew nearer, so much so that he just set it on the table beside the chessboard. As Christmas Day approached, dread filled Credence. He began making obvious mistakes in their games.

The fifth time in a row Newt defeated him handily, Newt leaned back and laughed. “Getting too tired? We only have five minutes left—”

“No, just distracted. I—I left your gift in my room. By the time I get back, it’ll be Christmas.” Credence stood so quickly he nearly knocked all the chess pieces off the board. He scrambled to right them, but Newt waved his wand and they floated back into place.

Before Newt could ask him if he was alright—the truthful answer to which was always _no, not really_ —Credence hurried out of the habitat and up into Newt’s room. By the time he walked next door, his resolve shook as much as his limbs. The inane desire to flee the country struck him, but of course he couldn’t do that to Newt. Not again. He owed him the truth—he owed him _so much_ —

And all he had to give was in a small package, wrapped only in the plain paper the shop owner had used. Credence took the gift from the hiding place beneath his bed—an unnecessary precaution, because he himself barely spent any time here, much less Newt. He wished he could pretend he hadn’t gotten a gift at all, but it was too late. Now he had to go through with it.

When he returned to Newt’s case, Newt was waiting by the Christmas tree. He bounced on his heels when Credence entered the room.

“Open this one first.” Newt held out a small box that was almost entirely engulfed by a large bow.

Credence placed the present for Newt under the tree and took the little gift from Newt. The wrapping paper contained a velvet box, and inside—

“A pocket watch?” It was silver with delicate symbols engraved on the cover. Credence opened it to find it had four hands instead of three.

“It’s a traditional gift when a wizard comes of age. But, I thought, better late than never—”

“I love it.” Credence brushed his fingers over the elaborate engravings. “But what’s the fourth hand for?”

“Well.” Newt became very interested in the Christmas tree. “It’s—it’s a bit silly, but I thought, if we’re out in the field, doing research, and we get separated, well, that hand points to my own pocket watch. That way you can always find me.”

“Or your niffler.” Credence stared at the fourth hand, which was indeed pointing at Newt’s watch, still on the table. How long until the extra hand was the only reminder he had left? How long until one of the only comforts he had was being able to look at this and know that somewhere Newt was happy and going on with his life?

“Well, yes.”

“I—thank you.” Credence put the watch in his pocket.

The next gift contained an enchanted world atlas, with writing in the margins that described various magical creatures located in each country. The handwriting was very clearly Newt’s. He must have spent hours making all those notes. All just for Credence, who didn’t deserve anything of the sort.

The box after that contained a small kit of potion ingredients and a little cauldron.

“Potion-making is an essential skill. You’d be shocked at how many poisons a person encounters on a daily basis while researching.”

Credence wasn’t surprised at all but thought it best to keep that to himself.

The last present was the largest, and the one Newt seemed most excited about. Credence unwrapped it to find a black leather suitcase a little smaller than Newt’s, but with clasps that seemed far sturdier than the one’s on his case—

With shaking hands, Credence opened it to see the top step of stairs leading down.

“It’s past time you got your own luggage,” Newt said, “Not that I mind the company. Quite the opposite. But you deserve more than sleeping on the floor of a dusty old shed—”

Credence’s vision blurred. “You shouldn’t have—this is too much—”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m making up for all previous Christmases. If anything, this isn’t enough.”

_I should never have let it get this far_ , Credence thought, helpless, his insides roiling with shame and sorrow but affection, too, and an almost fatalistic joy. For just a little while he could pretend he deserved any fraction of Newt’s kindness.

Credence put the case— _his_ case—on the ground and went inside. Instead of finding himself in a shed like Newt’s, he was in the middle of a dark forest.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” Newt explained as he followed Credence down the stairs. “So I just started with a habitat for your new friend.”

A thestral appeared between two trees, her large white eyes surveying them both. Credence could have recognized her long, thin face anywhere.

“The thestral that helped me?” Credence turned to Newt. “You said you took her home—”

“I did. Thestrals are herd animals, so if I forced her to go back to the wild, she would have been lonely. Now she has us to look after her. There’s plenty of space for her to fly in here, and she can go outside, too.” Newt opened a crate by the staircase Credence hadn’t noticed. It was full of raw meat.

They fed the thestral then spent some time with her. Newt explained all he knew about thestral care while Credence brushed her dark mane.

“You know,” Newt said, “She kind of reminds me of you, a little. When you slip up.”

“What?”

“Your eyes turn white just before you go incorporeal.”

“I never knew that.” Credence stared at the thestral. She didn’t look the least bit scary. But from the way people looked at him when he let his Obscurus take over, he was terrifying.

“You’ll need to name her, of course,” Newt said. “It’s traditional.”

“I don’t know what to call her. I’ll have to think on it.” Credence rubbed her nose.

“Alright, I’ve lasted as long as I can,” Newt said, “Can I open my present now?”

Credence grimaced. He’d hoped Newt would forget about that entirely. “Yeah. It’s upstairs.”

 

***

 

After bidding farewell to the thestral, they ascended the staircase and sat in front of the Christmas tree. Credence handed Newt a package wrapped in plain paper, then stared at the ground.

Though Credence said he liked the gifts Newt had given him, he seemed more withdrawn than ever. Newt was certain he’d overstepped and offended Credence with the gift of the suitcase. But he hadn’t wanted Credence to feel like he had to remain beholden to Newt for a place to live, and part of him had been trying to give Credence an out if he wanted it.

But it was done, now, and Newt couldn’t take it back.

With curiosity tickling the back of his mind, Newt carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside was a stationery set, just a fine quill, an ink bottle, and the most perfect parchment Newt had ever laid eyes on. The pages had an elaborate letterhead with—with _his_ name and little drawings of magical creatures that scurried around the letters and the title _Expert Magizoologist_ underneath—

The simple significance of the gift rendered Newt speechless.

“I figured when your book gets published, people will start sending you owls about all kinds of things, and it might be nice to have your own letterhead to respond—”

“ _Newt Scamander, Expert Magizoologist._ ” Newt read again, this time aloud. “It’s—”

“Nothing, I know, I feel stupid for even getting it, after all you’ve done for me—”

“Credence,” Newt said, his voice low and on the verge of breaking. “It’s perfect.” Credence had never once treated Newt as a joke or foolish for perusing Magizoology. The stationery was something Newt never would have gotten for himself, he’d never even considered the idea of the wizarding community taking him seriously. But holding it, touching the colorful letterhead, made him feel official, somehow, and _qualified_.

Newt tried to put his gratitude into words, to articulate his swelling pride and appreciation for the way Credence had gotten him something so meaningful without even seeming to realize, but before he got the chance, Credence spoke.

“Newt, there’s something I have to tell you. I should have a while ago, but I didn’t—I just didn’t want to mess everything up. But I want you to know, even if it ruins things, I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for me.”

Fear stole all the warmth the present had given him. Newt supposed he’d known this was coming for a while, and he braced himself. Credence was going to tell him he’d had enough of Newt’s company and wanted to strike out on his own. It was only natural. Credence had probably only been pretending to care about Magizoology to keep Newt happy—

“I—I mean, I don’t really know how to—to say this.” Credence stared at his hands, which were trembling. “I’m—” A teardrop fell on his knuckles.

“It’s alright, you can tell me.” Newt said softly, though he wanted to sprint away to keep from having to hear it. “I won’t be angry, no matter what.”

Credence mumbled something Newt couldn’t make out.

“Sorry?”

“I said I—I’m in love with you.”

For a moment Newt thought perhaps he’d misheard. His heart fluttered. He’d been bracing himself for bad news but—

“You… you’re in love? With _me_?”

Credence stood. “I’ll go. I understand I can’t—we can’t keep traveling together—”

“Why not?” Newt caught Credence’s arm before he could leave. A second later he let go, realizing how unfair he was being. “I mean—do you not—not _want_ to love me?”

“Of course I don’t,” Credence said, and though Newt couldn’t see his face, he knew tears were running down Credence’s cheeks. “It’s wrong. I’m—an abomination—”

“Wrong? Just because you’re my assistant? Or—?” _Abomination_ , Newt thought, _he can’t honestly think he doesn’t deserve love because he’s an Obscurial?_

Newt’s question surprised Credence enough to make him turn around. “Assistant? I’m—we’re both men—”

“Men? What has that got to do with anything—oh.” Newt’s stuttering heart stopped altogether. “The Muggles. Oh, no, you hear stories but—Oh, Credence, it’s not—it’s not wrong. It doesn’t matter, the gender of a person, not if you love them. And.” Newt stopped talking, his face growing red. _Love?_ Credence—beautiful, quiet, kind Credence—actually loved him? Him, a Magizoologist so obnoxious people regularly pretended not to speak English just to avoid talking to him, and then, when he switched to their native tongue, pretended to be missing an important meeting? Him, who understood animals far better than he ever understood people— _Credence loved him?_

From experience Newt would have thought Credence was just having a laugh, but there was nothing funny about his red eyes and tear stained face, or the way his whole body shook with fear or suppressed sobs. Newt longed to hold him, to comfort him, but Credence hated being touched—

Or did he always shy away because of some misguided notion what he felt was wrong? Credence’s confession was like the final ingredient in a clarity potion that made the murky waters turn crystal clear—the way Credence avoided contact with Newt, his long silences—

“Grindelwald, he—” Credence looked away, “He said you wouldn’t understand, he said you couldn’t return my affections—”

As a general rule, Newt believed criminals should be jailed and not killed, but he was willing to make an exception for Grindelwald. Grindelwald had known, probably all along, that Credence felt this way and that he’d been taught to hate himself for it. Grindelwald had known and not bothered to tell Credence witches and wizards didn’t care about that nonsense. But instead of giving him relief, he’d used Credence’s self-loathing to further isolate him and control him.

Perhaps not death. Perhaps a dementor’s kiss was all Grindelwald deserved.

“He lied,” Newt said, “I—I do care about you, Credence, in the same way you care for me.” Saying it aloud was like breaking above the surface of the ocean just when his lungs can’t take anymore, it was like the first sip of tea in the morning or the first moment his head touched his pillow after a long day. “I’m so sorry, I should have realized from the beginning, I should have mentioned—”

“How?” Credence asked, his voice small and broken, “How can you not mind?”

“Come here, follow me,” Newt said, blinking away tears. “I’ll show you.”

He led Credence into his shed and rummaged through his desk for a moment. At the bottom of a thick stack of papers, Newt found what he was looking for: an aging photo album. It wasn’t something he often thought about, since it was just full of pictures of his family, but Newt flipped to the third page and showed Credence.

The image was of two young women in their prime, hair done up and nicest dress robes on. It was a small painting, but rich in color, and lively.

“These are my aunts,” Newt explained. “On their wedding day.” The women waved up at them from the portrait. “And here,” Newt flipped a few pages, “are my great-grandfathers.” This painting was in an older style but the men depicted were still grinning ear to ear. As they watched, one of them kissed the other’s cheek.

Newt’s grandmother had given all her grandchildren matching photo albums one Christmas when Newt had still been in school. He hadn’t thought much of the pictures then, but now he cherished them. They were proof that he could show Credence, something tangible to let him know he wasn’t abnormal or broken.

Slowly, Credence reached out and ran the tips of his fingers along the edge of the picture. “They really—your family really doesn’t mind—?”

“Not just my family. All of the wizarding world. You know Professor Dumbledore—who’s a respected wizard, by the way, most people say the best of the age—he doesn’t fancy women at all. People don’t treat him like a pariah—well, unless he’s standing next to me.”

Like most of his jokes, that one fell flat.

Newt took Credence’s hand, his touch light so Credence could pull away if he wanted. When he didn’t, Newt brought Credence’s knuckles to his lips and pressed the softest of kisses there.

It had been a bold thing to do—too bold, too reckless. Credence’s eyes blazed white and he dissolved into darkness, fleeing through the top of the suitcase.

Newt, quite alone now, sank to the floor and rested his forehead on his knees. He’d made a mess of things, certainly. Now there was nothing to do but wait, and give Credence the space he needed to come to terms with it all.

Newt should have been more upset, but in his heart burned the bright, warm knowledge that Credence, against all odds, loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credence turning into an Obscurus and bailing is his equivalent of awkwardly moonwalking out of a conversation.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready for some fluff so saccharine it'll give you cavities <3

Credence had spent several days preparing himself for Newt’s reaction to his confession. He'd imagined every possible iteration of Newt’s disgust and anger, ranging from quiet rebuke to outright shouting.

It had never even occurred to him to wonder what it might be like if his love were met with acceptance—and even more foreign, reciprocation.

So when Newt showed him the moving portraits of his extended family who were like Credence, and when Newt pressed his soft lips to Credence’s knuckles, he’d panicked and fled. He’d fallen back on his habit of hiding from his emotions inside his Obscurus. Running was always so much easier—

Credence hovered in the corner of Newt’s room in the Leaky Cauldron, staying near the ceiling, careful not to break anything. He could have gone further, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to leave Newt alone again—

But how could he face him? How could Credence ever put into words his reasons for leaving so suddenly after Newt’s chaste gesture of affection?

A shrill voice in the back of his mind shrieked about how wrong it was, how Credence was broken for enjoying it.

Every evening Mary Lou had read to them from the Bible. For as long as Credence could remember, she’d always looked at him when reading the passage decrying witchcraft. Eventually, she’d started staring him down when she read the ones about the abomination of man lying with man—

But if Mary Lou had been wrong about witchcraft being evil, perhaps she was wrong about everything else. Magic didn’t make a person good or bad, their actions did. For every Grindelwald there were dozens of normal, nice witches and wizards who’d never use magic to hurt anyone.

And for every Grindelwald—who’d made Credence feel simultaneously special and abnormal, whose touch was an implicit promise and offer for something more—for every one like him, there had to be dozens more like Newt, for whom love was not a bargaining chip.

Slowly, Credence descended to the floor and slipped back into his body. His form still trembled from fear and shock and confusion—he could scarcely believe any of this was real, or that Newt was telling the truth. But it would have been an elaborate prank to prepare an old photo album and stuff it in the bottom of a drawer just to make Credence accept himself—

And the very notion of accepting himself, _all_ of himself, magic and attraction to men both, was so alien he couldn’t imagine it. What must it be like, to go through a day without any thoughts of self-loathing? It was as unimaginable as walking on the moon, but Credence wanted very much to find out.

He opened Newt’s case and climbed back inside. Newt was sitting in front of the fireplace near the Christmas tree, staring into the flames. He looked so peaceful Credence almost didn’t want to disturb him, but he knew he couldn’t run from this any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, startling Newt.

“Nonsense. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Newt stood up but hesitated to cross the space that separated them. Credence found himself with a similar reluctance.

He wanted to, but he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter this dream and he’d wake up back in New York—miserable, confused, _alone alone alone_ even in a room full of people.

But none of this felt like a dream, except there was a strange peace at the center of the chaos in his heart. Credence crossed the room, pulse racing, head light, and stopped a foot from Newt.

“I shouldn’t have run off like that. But I—”

“The fault’s entirely mine. I should have known better than to push you—”

“No, I overreacted, you didn't even—” Credence faltered. The apprehension he’d felt for so long was gone, but now a strange awkwardness was in its place. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Me either, most of the time.” Newt shrugged. “I find things work out best if you figure it out as you go.”

Maybe all this awkwardness between them was what Credence deserved. Who was he to burden Newt with his affections when he hardly knew what he wanted or how to love someone at all—

“Stop that,” Newt said, voice light, “I can tell you’re thinking about something unhappy. There’s no dwelling on possible negative outcomes on Christmas. And you know my general stance on worrying.”

“But I don’t—what if—” _what if I’m unlovable what if I ruin this_ —

“I know what you've been through, Credence. I won't pretend I know how it must feel, but we don't have to rush into anything. I’m happy with how things are now, and if you want them to stay the same, they will.” Newt’s smile was slow and sweet and genuine and it filled Credence with warmth and desire for something he could barely let himself imagine—

With motions far more self-assured than Credence felt, he stepped forward, erasing the distance between them. Before fear and uncertainty could stop him, Credence leaned forward and brushed his lips against Newt’s. The kiss was light and brief but it made heat rise to Credence’s cheeks—or perhaps that was due to the simple fact of his boldness, or the way Newt was looking at him—

“Well,” Newt said, also blushing. “That’s fine, too, then.”

The moment stretched taut between them. Before it could shatter into awkwardness, they both began to laugh. As he reached for Newt’s hand, lacing their fingers together, Credence thought that he wasn’t alright, not yet, but for the first time he believed he would be, one day.

  


Morning had already faded to afternoon by the time Credence woke sprawled beside Newt on his bed in the Leaky Cauldron. Credence’s new atlas was between them, still open to the page displaying Peru. Credence sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and nearly fell out of the bed when he noticed a long, thin box at their feet. Neither he nor Newt had left it there. It was tied with black ribbon and an elaborate bow.

“Newt, wake up,” Credence whispered, as if the box would overhear him and react.

“Hm? Have we missed Christmas dinner—”

“Someone broke in and left that here.” Credence pointed to the box.

“Oh, a house-elf must have delivered it. Nothing to worry about.” Newt shot up, grinning. “Hang on, that looks like—”

“A wand box.” Credence began to smile, then stopped. This was the thunderbird wand. Once he tried it, and it rejected him, there would be nothing else—

“Don’t start in on all that,” Newt said. “No frowning. Go on, open it.”

The box had a small card attached that read, _I trust you shall return this if it doesn’t choose you_. Credence wasn’t sad that Ollivander hadn’t shown up in person to watch Credence attempt to use the wand. The way Ollivander looked at him made his skin crawl.

He took his time removing the bow, then carefully opened the box and withdrew the wand. Credence thought it a plain design at first, then he noticed the subtle carvings around both ends, swirls and symbols he didn’t recognize. The wood was so dark it was almost black. Though nothing of the thunderbird feather remained in the outward appearance, holding it still put Credence in the mind of warm sunlight and the distant rumble of approaching storms. Heat tingled up his arm.

“Go on, then,” Newt said. “Give it a wave.”

Fear paralyzed him. Credence didn’t want this moment to end, because everything that came after would be worse. He still had Newt, but life as an Obscurial would be harder than life as a normal wizard. He’d have to continue the fight between wanting to disappear into his Obscurus entirely and wanting to live like a Muggle. One day the fight would kill him, and worse, he might harm someone else before it came to that.

“Whatever happens,” Newt said, voice low, “I’m right here, and I won’t give up on you. Ever.”

For a moment Credence let himself believe that. He let himself believe everything would work out. With the same sweeping motion he’d seen Newt use a hundred times before, he waved the wand.

Golden sparks flew out of the end, curling through the air before fading. Credence had done magic, however minor, but he didn’t feel the call of his Obscurus—

He didn’t feel the Obscurus at all—

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Credence said. The empty wand box floated into the air at his command.

“I think it’s safe to say this wand belongs to you.” Newt laughed.

Credence let the box fall back onto the bed. He wanted to keep doing magic all day, but his stomach rumbled. The creatures in Newt’s case and his own thestral would need food, too. Credence stood, brushing tears from his eyes.

“Congratulations,” Newt said, hesitating a few feet from him.

“Thank you.” Credence hugged Newt, resting his head on Newt’s shoulder. They held each other for a long time before Newt finally suggested they get to work before they actually did miss Christmas dinner.

  


With each spell Credence mastered, his Obscurus seemed to fade in power. For several days Credence spent every free moment practicing magic, so much so he worried Newt would get annoyed with all the random objects flying around the room. But Newt never seemed to grow tired of watching Credence use his magic the way it was meant to be used.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, he and Newt sat at their usual table in the Leaky Cauldron, eating breakfast and arguing about the morality of transfiguring animals into objects.

“Doesn’t it hurt them?” Credence asked. He had a transfiguration book open in front of him. The illustrations were disturbing, and not just because they moved.

“No.”

“But how can we be sure? And isn’t it the same as killing them—”

“You can turn them back into animals,” Newt said past a bite of toast.

“What if you never do? Or—or what if you turn a mouse into a teacup and forget about it? Then a hundred years later someone else comes along and turns it back into a mouse. Is it the same mouse? Has the mouse aged at all?”

“Hm. I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps we should write Dumbledore to ask.” Newt sipped his tea, then set the cup down, laughing. “Maybe the key to immortality is turning yourself into a teacup. You can skip any old decade you want.”

“Who’d want to skip part of their life?” Credence asked. He himself couldn’t imagine it. He wanted to savor every moment while he could.

An owl dropped a letter off at Newt’s elbow. Newt picked it up and froze.

“What’s wrong?” Credence asked.

“It’s from the publisher, about my book. A rejection letter, no doubt—”

“Open it. Waiting won’t change what it says. Neither will worrying about it.”

Newt took a deep breath and followed Credence’s advice. His eyes moved over the letter, growing wide with shock.

“What’s it say?”

“They—they’re going to publish it. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , by Newt Scamander.” Newt put the letter down. “I—I can’t believe it—”

“I never doubted it for a second.”

Newt’s smile, filled with disbelief and a flattered surprise and a hint of pride, made Credence’s heart ache. He leaned over the table and kissed Newt, not considering that they were in public for anyone to see.

Tom, who’d been collecting dishes from a nearby table, snorted. “Thought he was more than your assistant, Mr. Scamander.”

Credence sat back down, fighting the urge to turn himself invisible. But his Obscurus barely reacted. It was weaker than ever, now.

“Not my assistant,” Newt said, “I’ve promoted him to partner.”

In the past few weeks Credence had thought he’d gotten better at picking up when Newt was joking, but now he seemed to be serious—

“Well,” Newt said, staring into his tea, “I thought we should be equals, all things considered. You’re making huge strides with your spellwork, and soon you won’t really need me as a teacher.”

“Partners.” Credence found he liked the feel of the word.

“Partners.” Newt picked his letter up again. “Now that this is sorted, we can begin planning our next expedition. Have you given any thought to where you might like to go?”

“Anywhere,” Credence answered truthfully. “Anywhere at all.”


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this Very Soft epilogue <3

New York City in autumn looked much the same as it had in winter, at least from a distance. Tall buildings rose out of the gray haze of morning. Up close the city would be more lively, but from the deck of the ship it seemed frozen in place. Newt watched it approach, heart fluttering.

When the ship finished docking and passengers began to disembark, Credence insisted they do it the Muggle way.

“They said they’d be waiting for us,” Credence argued. “If we just Apparate somewhere else, we might miss them.”

“Alright.” Newt could see the sense in Credence’s point. “But customs takes ages.”

“You love going through customs.”

“It’s the forms, they just ask so many silly questions.”

Customs didn’t take as long as Newt thought it would, and soon they were walking past groups of people waiting on other passengers. He scanned the crowd for familiar faces—

And found three. He couldn’t have stopped the grin on his face if he wanted to. Tina, Jacob, and Queenie stood near the edge of the crowd.

“There they are,” Newt said, pointing them out to Credence. “You remember Tina—”

“I do.” Credence’s smile was a little melancholy. The last time he’d seen Tina, things hadn’t been going that well for him.

“And that’s her sister, Queenie, and Jacob. He’s a—”

“Muggle, I know. You may have mentioned him, once or twice.”

“Right. Yes.” Newt tried to calm his nerves. It had been almost a year since he’d been in New York. And now here he was again, suitcase in hand, Credence a steady presence by his side.

Tina finally spotted them. Her face lit up and she pulled on her sister’s sleeve. Queenie rushed to meet them, dragging Jacob and Tina along.

“We’re engaged!” Queenie said, holding up her left hand to display a ring.

“Congratulations.” Newt didn’t look at Jacob. He didn’t want to see the face of a stranger staring back at him.

“I woulda told you in my last owl,” Tina said, “but she made me keep quiet. Wanted to do it in person.”

“What about the law?” Newt asked.

“We’re gonna get married in Canada.” Queenie giggled. “But enough about us—Credence, honey, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Credence had fallen a little behind Newt, standing apart from the group. Queenie pulled him into a hug.

“You’re so brave,” Queenie said, in a voice quiet enough that only Newt could overhear, “for coming back here, after everything that happened. But don’t worry.” Queenie stepped back. “You like pastries?”

“I—” Credence seemed a little thrown off by Queenie’s warmth. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, you’re in luck. My fiance happens to be the best baker in town.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jacob said, shaking Credence’s hand. Then Jacob turned to Newt and he couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Hello,” Newt said, briefly meeting Jacob’s eye.

“You look kinda familiar,” Jacob said. “Sure this is the first time we’ve met?”

“Yes. I suppose I just have one of those faces.”

“Really? Huh.” There was a smile in Jacob’s voice. “Because I coulda swore the last time I saw you, you and what’s in that case caused a lot of trouble.”

Newt looked up, staring at Jacob. “You—you remember?”

“Some of it. The girls told me the rest.”

“Don’t you put this on me,” Tina said. “It was all Queenie.” She smiled. “But I didn’t exactly run off and tattle to Madam Picquery, either.”

“There’s so much I have to tell you, then. They only know half of what happened—” Newt glanced around at the crowd. “Perhaps that can wait until later.”

“Right,” Jacob said, grinning. “You’ll want to get settled in. We have an apartment above the bakery, it’s not much, but—”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Newt said, his heart swelling with pride and affection. They began to leave the docks.

Newt looked over at Credence. He was a little subdued, caught in the midst of so many memories. But before Newt could say anything to cheer him up, Tina fell into step beside Credence.

“You look good—well. You look well.” Tina’s cheeks colored. Newt couldn’t blame her. Credence had changed in the past year. His hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and though his clothes were a little travel-worn, they were well made and colorful. But the most striking change was in the way he moved with quiet confidence and how often he smiled.

“Thank you,” Credence said.

“I never been on one of those steamships before,” Queenie said, stomping right over the awkwardness in the air. “What’s it like, with all that No-Maj stuff?”

“No-Maj?” Credence asked.

“She means Muggles.” Newt smiled.

“Over here we call them No-Majs.” Queenie lifted her chin a little. “Next thing Newt will be trying to convince you Hogwarts is better than Ilvermorny.”

“Isn’t it?” Credence said, with such an air of naive innocence Newt knew he was doing it on purpose.

“Don’t bother, Queenie.” Tina crossed her arms. “He’s already been corrupted. That’s a Hogwarts scarf around his neck.”

“Newt made me an honorary Hufflepuff.” Credence had never sounded prouder. Newt caught his eye and they shared a smile.

Even after all these months together, sometimes looking into Credence’s eyes made Newt feel like the world had vanished beneath his feet.

“Glad to see you took my advice,” Queenie said to Newt.

For a moment he wasn’t sure what she meant. Then he recalled what she’d said to him the previous year, inside his case.  _ She was a taker. You need a giver _ .

“I’m glad, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after~
> 
> I can't believe this fic is finally over. I also can't believe how long it ended up being, and what an amazing experience sharing it with everyone was! When I started I expected to get 10k words in and run out of steam, but now that it's over I don't quite know what to do with myself.
> 
> Again, feel free to drop by [my Tumblr](http://sirnotappearinginthisblog.tumblr.com/) to chat or swap Sad Headcanons.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone for reading and being fantastic!
> 
> If you enjoyed reading and have the cash to spare, consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A7214YRV)


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